Someone Like You!
by The Great Allie
Summary: After a special visitor helps Cyril Sneer through a bout of depression, he starts a new romantic relationship, but not everybody in the forest is happy about it.
1. Prologue

_Note: Through repeated watchings of early Raccoons and reading fansites, the wiki, and other assorted articles, I am unable to determine which pig is which by number, let alone by fan name. As of right now, Lloyd is the one NOT voiced by Bert Raccoon and Floyd is the one most prone to shouting, so imagine their personalities accordingly. Please let me know if there is a different fanon standard of naming I should conform to, and I will change accordingly. Thank you._

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue Part I<br>**_(Set during "The One that Got Away!")_

Of course, the main purpose of the press conference was to show off his (okay, his and Knox's) line of environmentally friendly products. That was where the money was these days. In fact, it had become downright fashionable to be environmentally conscious. There was some money to be made in taking care of the planet, sure, but there was even more money to be made in being trendy. When it came to Cyril Sneer, it was hard to tell if his motives were really altruistic or if he was the same greedy aardvark tycoon he'd always been.

He and Knox made a great speech, but as Ralph Racoon said, "Good news is no news," and much of the press dwindled before their great announcement was even finished. Cyril was disheartened, but it wasn't a complete bust: one of the guests who stayed for the entire announcement was the one Cyril was really hoping would attend: Ingrid Bellamour.

Cyril hadn't seen Ingred since the unpleasantness with the Rotco corporation and, though they had parted on friendly terms, it was clear that she thought him a long way off before he was the kind of man she would be involved with. Can't hardly blame her- she was famous for being a movie star turned environmental activist. If she was caught hobnobbing with a known supporter of environmental disasters, it would ruin her reputation and nobody would donate to her Save the World fund anymore.

Still, his hopes were high as he approached her at the refreshment table. He cleared his throat. "A-hem... hello, Ingrid."

Ingrid turned and when she saw him, she smiled. "Hello, Cyril."

"I was hoping you'd make it."

"Oh, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I'm proud of you, Cyril."

Cyril was internally celebrating, though he made sure his outward appearance betrayed none of his excitement. He was going to play this cool. "Yeah, well, I figured it was about time Sneer Industries got out of the dark ages and started looking after the planet. After all, taking care of the Earth is everyone's responsibility."

Yes, he knew how hokey he sounded, and if it were anyone else in the world, he wouldn't have said it. He was just _really happy_ to see Ingrid again and he really didn't want to blow it.

"Yes, it is," she said. "I got your recent donation to the fund," she added. "Thank you."

"Well... you know... I try to give back... I've been donating to a few charities here and there, spreading the wealth around." In actuality he had donated to exactly one other charity, something about saving whales or some such initiative, specifically so he wouldn't have to completely lie to Ingrid when he tried this line.

"It's good to see a millionaire using his money to help others," said Ingrid.

"How are you enjoying the party?" asked Cyril. "Lady Baden-Baden picked out the hors d'oeuvres. Not quite my taste, but the doctor says it's good for my heart, so..."

"I love it. It's such a quaint setup. Not too extravagant, doesn't take attention away from the good being done here. I'm so tired of parties that are just expensive pats on the back that wealthy people give each other where the environment is hardly mentioned at all."

Cyril chuckled. "Yeah... didn't want to waste money on a party I could have been using on the business."

"I only wish my boyfriend could have come tonight," said Ingrid with a sigh. "He wanted so dearly to see it for himself, but he's shooting a public service announcement about recycling."

Cyril's mouth dropped open so quickly he lost his cigar. "Your... boyfriend?"

"Oh, yes, it's all over those gossip rags," said Ingrid disdainfully. "Ever since Harold Wilmfront and I started seeing each other it's all those papers talk about... never a word about our foundation unless it's a throwaway line at the end to pad it out, that can be cut if the column runs long."

"Yes, I can... see how that would be... frustrating." Cyril suddenly felt like he was floundering in the ocean, trying to tread water and keep his nose above while he flailed about in a futile attempt to get the lifeguard's attention.

"Anyway, it was good to see you again, Cyril," said Ingrid. "I'm going to have a word with those reporters from the _Standard_ and see if I can't give them a few words for their write-up of the evening." She gave him a friendly wave as she walked off, leaving Cyril standing with his mouth still open, his cigar forgotten.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue Part II<br>**_(Between the final two scenes of "The One That Got Away!")_

"We are in big trouble," said Lloyd sadly.

It was the understatement of the century. After dragging the barrels of poison back to Milton Midas's office and throwing the money at his feet, the pigs were feeling pretty proud of themselves. It was especially satisfying to watch Midas being dragged away in handcuffs.

It was less satisfying when they felt the handcuffs being slapped around their own wrists. At first they protested and struggled, but the officers would not relent. The charges were read, and since none of the pigs had much of a background in legal work, it was explained to them that even though they didn't know what was in the barrels, it was criminally negligent and reckless to dump them randomly somewhere in the forest.

"I thought we were doing the right thing," said Boyd, with a hurt and dejected tone of voice. He felt absolutely betrayed.

"We were," said Floyd. "We helped prove it was Midas responsible for poisoning the fishing hole!"

"The boss says he's going to be put away for a long time," said Lloyd.

"So what does that mean for us, the ones who actually did the dumping?" asked Floyd.

"Probably that we'll stay in jail for even longer," said Boyd.

The three of them sighed heavily.

"What are we gonna tell Mom?" asked Boyd.

"We can _never_ tell Mom!" Floyd squealed so loudly that the guard reached over and banged on their cell door with his nightstick. "Sorry," Floyd said in a more toned down voice.

"You're right, though," said Lloyd. "Mom can never know."

"I don't know, guys," said Boyd. "She always said she wants to hear about our lives. Remember when she came to visit us?"

When Mrs. Pig had visited her boys under the false impression that _they_ were the tycoons and Cyril Sneer was the employee, it had been very shaming to tell her the truth. Of course, she was their mother and she loved them no matter what, but after the truth came out she had told them sadly, "Boys, you don't have to lie to me to make me proud of you. You don't have to be big business tycoons to make me proud of your accomplishments. When you lie to me, that lie becomes a big part of your life that I can't share with you. I'm your mother, and I want to be there for you during good times _and_ bad ones. If you lie to me, then you're robbing me of what I want most of all... to share in the lives of the most special people in the world to me." After that they had all hugged, and the pigs had promised to write to her every week- and every word of their letters had been true.

Lloyd shook his head in defeat. "She'll find out soon enough. This will be in every newspaper in the country tomorrow morning- if it hasn't already been in today's."

"Besides," added Floyd, "it's not like we have a lot else to do here than write letters..."

Just then a different guard came to the cell door. "Your bail's been paid," he said. "Let's get you ready to go."

"Our bail's been paid?!" the pigs responded in shock and unison.

"But it was over a hundred thousand dollars!" Floyd cried. "Who in the world could have..."

"Ohhhhh..." all the pigs realized at the same moment.

"That's right, and you're being released into his custody. You're not to leave the Evergreen Forest until your court date, understand?"

"Oh, yes sir, yes sir," said the pigs. "We understand, sir!"

"I can't believe he paid our bail," said Lloyd to the others as they were lead out. "After what we did to the fishing hole, I didn't think he'd ever want to see us again."

Indeed, the last words Cyril had said to them were in his office after finding out that they were the ones responsible for dumping the poison. He hadn't exactly shouted at them, not like he usually did. But his voice was angry and hurt as he just flung wads of bills at them from his safe and demanded, "You want money? Here. Here's lots of money. Take it all! Take some more! Just give me back the fishing hole! Can you do that? Can you give me a price on that? _Can you?!"_

The pigs were escorted into a holding area where Cyril Sneer was waiting, sitting down on a bench with his knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs, eyes narrow, a stream of smoke floating from his cigar.

"Um... hello, Boss," said Lloyd.

"Hello, _pigs_," said Cyril with utter disdain.

"Um... so... how have you been?" Boyd asked with a grin.

"Let's get one thing straight right away. I am very, _very_ upset with you. This is worse than when you let that puzzle piece get into circulation and I lost the chip deal. This is worse than when you ruined the computer system and I was held hostage by my own house. This is worse than when you shredded my money. This is worse than _every single thing_ you have _ever done_, put together." He let out a sigh, a cloud of smoke escaping his mouth. "But you still work for me. And believe me, you will be put to work. And as long as you stay in the mansion and do everything I say, and show up for your court date, I will get the bail money I put up back, so I won't be out of pocket. I may be in charge of you, but if I'm not giving you an order I don't want to look at you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," said all the pigs, but in a very subdued way not at all like their usual energetic lackeying.

"First things first," said Cyril. "I've gotten three bacon-sized hazmat suits. You are going down to the lake and you are doing some serious damage control. We might not ever be able to use the fishing hole again, but if we act quickly it won't spread, and maybe our great- great- grandchildren will be able to come within ten feet of it without losing all their fur."

The next day, the pigs were down in the lake cleaning up the worst of it while the raccoons nailed warning signs around the perimeter so everyone would know the area was contaminated.


	2. Chapter 1

Something was very wrong with Cyril Sneer. The day after the fishing hole clean-up, he didn't get out of bed. Nine o'clock, the official start of business hours, came and went and he didn't show up. Cedric was still at a sleepover with Bert at the clubhouse, so it was just Cyril and the pigs.

"Maybe we should do something," said Boyd.

"The boss says he doesn't want to see us if he isn't giving us an order," said Lloyd.

"But what if something's wrong?" asked Floyd.

"What if something isn't? Do you want to be the one he calls a ham hock while he kicks your curly tail with those unclipped toenails of his?"

Floyd's hands reflexively went straight to his bottom. That was all the answer that was needed.

"I'm going to try and call Master Cedric," said Lloyd. "Boyd, you peek in the door and see if everything's all right."

"Why me?"

"Because it was your idea to dump the barrels over the cliff!"

"No it wasn't! It was Floyd's!"

"My idea? It was Lloyd's idea!"

"How about you two rock-paper-scissors for it," suggested Lloyd.

"Why not you, huh?" demanded Boyd.

"Because I came up with the idea, so I get the easiest job."

Boyd and Floyd frowned. That was fair enough. Lloyd left, and the other two roshambo'd. Boyd lost because his brothers knew he always picked scissors.

"I'll be right behind you," said Floyd. "I mean, not in the boss's bedroom or anything, just out here in the hall. But still."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks a lot." He eased the door open, every quiet creak sounding like a fire alarm to his nervous and already sensitive ears. When the door was all the way open, he could see Cyril bunched up under the covers, facing away from the door. He cleared his throat. Cyril didn't move.

Boyd wondered if his boss had died during the night, and was really afraid he might have. He tiptoed over to the bed and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Um... boss?"

Cyril grunted. Boyd wasn't completely convinced it was just gas escaping. He crept around the huge, luxurious bed and it felt like walking the perimeter of an entire province, but he finally made it to Cyril's side of the bed.

His boss's eyes were open and they weren't dried out, so that was a good sign. Boyd waved his hand and held it up high, and Cyril's beady little pupils tracked its movements. "Um, boss? Are you okay?"

Cyril didn't answer right away, but he looked like he was steeling himself up for some humungous effort. He took a deep breath and said, "Just leave me alone, would you?"

Boyd didn't need telling twice. No longer trying to be secretive, he clopped out of the room and closed the door behind him. "He's not dead," he reported to his brother, "and he doesn't look sick."

"So what's wrong?" asked Floyd.

Boyd shrugged.

Meanwhile, Lloyd was on the phone. There was no phone line in the clubhouse, so he called the Raccoondominium first because that was where Bert lived. When he got no answer, he tried the Evergreen Standard. Melissa answered on the third ring. "You've reached the offices of the Evergreen Standard. This is Melissa Raccoon speaking, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm trying to get in touch with Cedric. I heard he was at that clubhouse with Bert."

"Oh, yes, they went there last night. Ralph tagged along." She pulled the receiver away from her mouth, but Lloyd could still hear her. "Ralph, honey, was Cedric at the clubhouse when you left this morning?"

Faintly, Lloyd heard Ralph's reply, "Cedric? I think so. He and Bert are working on some project together. I think they're getting ready for winter by building a sled. Bert found some instructions in a magazine..."

Melissa put the receiver back to her mouth. "Yes, he's there. Do you want one of us to head over there and send him home?"

"No, thanks. But if he shows up at the office, keep him there and tell him we're looking for him."

"Oh, okay. Bye."

They hung up the phone and Lloyd rejoined his brothers, who filled him in on the news.

"I'm taking the limo out to pick up Master Cedric," said Lloyd.

"You can't do that!" Floyd shrieked. "If the boss finds out, he'll _kill_ you! And he can have us all sent right back to jail."

"If the boss finds out and does _anything_, it'll be an improvement," said Lloyd. "Are you coming or staying?

"Staying!" said Floyd at the same time Boyd said, "Coming." They glanced at each other. Then, Boyd said, "Staying," at the same time Floyd said, "Coming!"

Lloyd threw up his hands. "Just stay here, then! And call the raccoons if anything really bad happens."

"Why the raccoons?" asked Boyd.

"Because they know where I'll be if I'm not back."

Lloyd found the limo keys in Cyril's office and his own driving gloves under his bed. He had driven Cyril all over the Evergreen Forest, and even used it to run emergency errands without the boss explicitly there, but he had never once took the car out without permission, no matter how tempted he had been over the years. Driving it alone, and against the rules, he felt somehow like a punk rebel. Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, he wished he had a thick pair of shades and a toothpick to chew.

Soon enough, he arrived at the clubhouse and, just as Ralph had said, Cedric and Bert were building a sled. Cedric had a long list of calculations for the best way to distribute their weight along the runners for maximum downhill speed, and Bert was just hammering boards together to see what would happen. For the life of him, Lloyd never understood how Cedric and Bert had anything in common enough to be friends.

"Master Cedric," said Lloyd authoritatively, "your presence is needed back at the mansion."

Cedric looked disappointed. "Can't it wait? I've almost cracked this formula. It's only a few months before the snow starts, and the sled has to be perfect."

"Yeah," added Bert. "Can't you just see us, zooming down every hill in the forest? Why, I bet we set land speed records with this thing!" As he said it, the runner fell off the sled and right onto his foot. "Yeowch!" Bert grabbed his injured foot and began hopping on one foot in a circle. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!"

"I'd rather not discuss this in front of the outsider," said Lloyd, giving Bert a haughty look. Being Cyril's employee, he often felt as if he were above the common raccoons the same way Cyril felt himself to be. Or maybe it was just that they were always on opposite sides of every conflict, or even Cyril's bad attitude rubbing off on him. Still, he looked down his snout at Bert before he told Cedric briefly about his father's current condition.

"Oh, wow," said Bert, "you'd better go. That doesn't sound good. And for a guy his age? Yeesh."

"You're right," said Cedric. "We'll pick this up later. Bye, Bert."

"Take care, Cedric," said Bert, waving as Cedric and Lloyd left the clubhouse. For how much grief Cyril had given the raccoons over the years, there was still a part of Bert that was able to think of him as Cedric's father first and foremost, usually when he wasn't actually around.

Lloyd gave Cedric the rundown of what they had uncovered on the drive back, and Cedric promised up and down not to tell his father that the pig had taken his limo out without asking. He didn't even question why Lloyd hadn't picked one of the other, more practical and less expensive cars.

As soon as they got home Cedric went straight for Cyril's room. He knocked lightly on the door. "Pop? Are you in there?"

Faintly he heard his father's voice say, "Cedric?" It wasn't weak like he was sick, or like he was sleepy. It was weak like he just didn't have the heart to speak.

Cedric let himself in and closed the door, knowing that the pigs would be scrambling to get their ears pressed against it. "I hear you're not feeling so good, Pop."

Cyril rolled onto his back and propped himself up with his pillows.

Cedric sat on the edge of his bed. "Is it about the fishing hole? I know you're disappointed, but it can't be all that bad."

Cyril shook his head. "No, son, it's not about the fishing hole. It's about..."

It was hard to explain to his son what he was really feeling. The fishing hole was part of it, but what's more was what it symbolized- he knew his carefree youth was long behind him, and yet seeing that symbol of youthful innocence destroyed reminded him of how long ago his childhood really was. It was as he had said to Bentley, he'd had his summers, and they were over. It wasn't just a reminder of how old he really was, but how hard those years had been on him. The ulcers he was constantly keeping in check wasn't helping things, either.

Mostly, it was exacerbating his encounter with Ingrid Bellamour, which he hadn't told anyone about and prayed she hadn't, either. He really did love her, and wanted to be with her. She had turned him down before, and now she was completely unattainable. And as Cyril lay there, thinking of his dear departed wife, the mother of his son, he realized that he only ever had one chance at true love, and that chance was buried in the Sneer family tomb. He remembered his brief engagement to Lady Baden-Baden, and though the whole time he'd been trying to find a way out of it without losing Mammoth's business or disappointing his son, there was a huge part of him that just wanted to be married again. Those days with his wife had been some of the happiest of his life. A happiness that he painfully knew he would never feel again.

So he was old, and he was lonely, and he was depressed. That was all.

But he couldn't tell Cedric that. He couldn't even put it into words.

"It's complicated, son," said Cyril.

"Have you eaten yet today?" Cedric was prodding gently.

"I'm not hungry." He hadn't eaten dinner last night, either, or lunch before that, or...

"Why don't I get the pigs to fix you something?"

"Don't bother. It'd just end up getting thrown away. And that's wasteful. Our landfills are full enough." He repeated words Ingrid had said before, only with a spiteful tone.

"You need to eat something."

Cyril hiked up the covers and turned over onto his side. "Maybe I'll just starve," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, son."

Cedric was completely unable to comfort his father, and that scared him. He gave his father a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, Pop. I just remembered I need to make a quick phone call."

He got up and left, and pretended not to notice the pigs scrambling out of his way trying to pretend they hadn't heard every word. The doorbell rang as Cedric passed and he asked casually, "Can you get that?"

"Yes sir, yes sir," said the pigs, but their hearts weren't in it.

They ran downstairs to the front door and answered it. "Sneer residence, who may I ask-"

"Hello, boys!" Standing and beaming at them from the front step was none other than Mrs. Suey-Ellen Pig.

"Mom!" the pigs all shouted. Right away they all hugged each other.

"What brings you here?" asked Lloyd.

"Well, I'm sorry to say it's bad news." She opened up a newspaper. "I heard about your little trouble at the fishing hole and I was so worried."

The pigs faces all went red and they looked at the floor, embarrassed.

"It's okay, boys. It was a mistake. We're going to get through this. I'm staying in the forest for as long as it takes. Okay?"

"Okay," said the pigs.

"Let me show you to our room," said Boyd.

"I'll get your bags!" said Floyd.

"You're such helpful boys," said Mrs. Pig as they all grabbed her suitcases out of the trunk of her roadster and led the way to the servant's quarters. "I'm lucky to have you." _Even if Cyril isn't_, the pigs finished silently.

Down the hall they passed Cedric, who was on the phone with Dr. Canard. Though they didn't stay to listen, we will.

"So what do you think?" asked Cedric as he finished relaying the events.

"Hmm, hard to say," said Dr. Canard. "It doesn't sound like anything is physically wrong with him. If you ask me, I think he might need to check into the hospital. They'll be able to find out what's bothering him."

"You really think that's necessary?" Cedric went pale.

"Maybe not, but if a man doesn't eat and doesn't get out of bed, he's seriously depressed, and that's a health risk in itself. Just keep it in mind. If he doesn't seem like he's getting better, give me a call. I have a psychiatrist colleague I can get you in touch with who can help him. But only if it comes to that."

"Well... okay. thanks, Dr. Canard." They said goodbye and hung up.

"Gee... Pop hates the hospital," said Cedric to himself, though that wasn't the reason he wanted to keep his father out of it. Cyril might not be as bothered by hospitals as he used to be, but he still might not react well to another extended stay, especially for a reason that was still so taboo in the modern world.

To avoid thinking about it, he went to find the pigs and ask who had been at the door. He was pleasantly surprised when he knocked and they invited him in so he could see who was there.

"Mrs. Pig!" he said happily. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"I didn't, either," said Mrs. Pig. "But my boys needed me, and a mother always comes when she knows her boys need her."

"My Pop's the same way," said Cedric, smiling.

The pigs and Cedric glanced at each other as there was an odd, shared moment between them. Cedric had been without a mother his entire life, and the pig's father had passed away when they were still piglets.

"Actually, the boys were just telling me that there might be some more trouble today. I hear your father isn't feeling well."

Not wanting to go into details, Cedric just said, "No, I'm afraid he's not."

"Maybe I can help. I used to take care of these ones all the time. They got sick all at the same time, you know, since they did everything together."

"Mo-om," whined Floyd. "don't embarrass us!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Mrs. Pig sincerely. "But please, let me check on Mr. Sneer. I haven't seen him since the fair." She gave each of her boys a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back soon, I promise. I love you"

When she kissed them, the pigs smiled genuine, happy smiles. "We love you, too, Mom," they said in unison.

Cedric wasn't sure his father would like it, but he was desperate. He brought Mrs. Pig to Cyril's room and let her in. "Mrs. Pig's here to see you, Pop. She came to visit her sons and wanted to say hello."

"Hello, Mr. Sneer," said Mrs. Pig. "I understand you're not feeling well today."

Cyril grunted, but he actually rolled over to look at her. "Just having an off day," he muttered.

"I'd better go check the answering machine," said Cedric. "Clients aren't used to the business being closed on a weekday." In reality, it was an excuse. He had just suddenly felt out of place and like he was intruding on a personal moment.

Mrs. Pig went to Cyril's bedside. She reached out and put a hand on his forehead.

Cyril sneered. "What are you doing?"

"You aren't running a temperature," she said. "Open your mouth and say aah."

"What do you mean? You're not my doctor."

"Aaah, Mr. Sneer."

Cyril rolled his eyes and did as she instructed, hoping it would be over sooner if he did. "Aaahhh... there, are you happy?"

"You're not sick," said Mrs. Pig. "You know, my boys used to say they were sick so they could stay in bed all day when something was bothering them and they just didn't want to face the world."

"They haven't changed much," grumbled Cyril.

"I know something's bothering you and you don't want to talk about it," said Mrs. Pig.

"It's not that," said Cyril. He was beginning to feel everyone was getting the wrong idea. "It's that I _can't_ talk about it. I don't really know what it _is_."

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Pig nodded with understanding. "In that case, I know just what you need." She smiled, gave him a gentle boop on the snout with her finger, then turned and left.

Cyril propped himself up with one elbow and stared at the door where she'd disappeared. She was gone for a while, and after some time passed Cyril began to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep and dreamed that she had been there. Eventually, though, she returned- and she was carrying a huge banana split with three scoops of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

Cyril was blown away. "You think a man my age can eat like that without it catching up to him?"

"It isn't any more unhealthy than lying in bed all day and not eating anything at all. My boys always had an easier time talking about what was wrong over a delicious banana split sundae." She held out two spoons. "Just so long as you remember to share."

Cyril looked uncertainly down at the banana split before him.

_I can see a light shine in the night from you_

With nothing to lose, he shrugged and took one of the spoons from her

_Somewhere in the dark, a lone spark or two_

Mrs. Pig looked pleased as he scooped up the tiniest bit of ice cream and slid it into his mouth.

_So why, oh why, can't I get through to you?_

He put the spoon back in the dish and lay back on his pillows. Mrs. Pig frowned. She nudged the sundae closer to him

_I try and try, but what more can I do?_

Cyril just gave her an exasperated look, clearly not interested in playing her game.

_Sooner or later  
><em>_The sooner, the better_

Mrs. Pig took a big bite of ice cream and made an exaggerated "mmmm" sound, and looked at Cyril encouragingly.

_Tell her you love her  
><em>_Never forget her_

Cyril picked the spoon back up and gave it another try. He took a slightly bigger spoonful.

When he swallowed it, a microscopically tiny smile crossed his lips.

_Sooner than later  
><em>_The sooner, the better..._

They both began eating, Mrs. Pig talking about how her boys used to be when they were little enough for her to make ice cream for, and Cyril laughing and relating similar stories between him and Cedric.

_Well, she knows you love her  
><em>_Gonna make it forever_

When Mrs. Pig left the room with the empty ice cream dish an hour later, Cedric was practically waiting by the door for her. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Very well," said Mrs. Pig. "I got him to eat and I got him to talk."

"Mrs. Pig, you're amazing," said Cedric. "That's more than any of us were able to do."

"It just takes a mother's touch sometimes," she said as she walked to the kitchen with a light step, humming to herself.


	3. Chapter 2

The unusual thing about Mrs. Pig, her sons found, was that she had no problem connecting with the raccoons, Sophia, Schaeffer, and generally the other members of the forest that they didn't get along with. She went out during the day when the pigs were working, having lunch at the Blue Spruce Café and spending time chatting with the animals that made the boss's life, and by extension theirs, so difficult. While they would find going for a nature walk with Bert Raccoon to be a terrible punishment, Mrs. Pig looked forward to it and afterwards had nothing but nice things to say about the wonderful neighbors her boys were so lucky to have in the Evergreen Forest.

In short, there was a line in the forest between Cyril and his employees, and the raccoons and their friends, and Mrs. Pig was not only unafraid to cross it, but was able to do so with ease. Even Cedric, who had a close relationship with both his father and his best friend, was always nervous when one of them was talking about the other- when Bert Raccoon was angry with Cyrl it was hard to listen to his best friend badmouth his father, and when Cyril was ranting about those ring-tailed bandit faces ruining his life, Cedric couldn't stand listening to such words about his best friend.

It was only natural, then, that Cedric found himself drawn to Mrs. Pig. They had something important in common: the ability to see the best side of all the forest animals. When he wasn't working, he found himself drawn to her company. The next day into Mrs. Pig's visit, since Cyril wasn't around to limit his son's lunch hour, he chose to spend it with Mrs. Pig at the Blue Spruce Café.

"I know Mr. Sneer can be hard to get along with," said Mrs. Pig over lunch, "but he really does have a soft side that can be brought out with a little love. And the raccoons make him so angry, but they're really just doing what's best."

"I know," said Cedric, and he really meant it.

"And that Sophia of yours is quite a catch," added Mrs. Pig. "I don't know why Cyril doesn't like her, she's such a dear."

"He thinks she's a social climber," answered Cedric, "and that she only wants to marry me because I'm going to inherit Pop's fortune and business." He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully swallowed, and then added, "Well, actually, I think by now he's realized that isn't exactly true. I think now he just doesn't believe she's good enough for me. I should be marrying a wealthy debutante instead of a regular old aardvark."

"Well, that's silly," said Mrs. Pig. "Love doesn't care about social classes and neither should you."

"I don't," said Cedric. "It's just hard because I can never get those two together. Actually," he added wistfully, "it's really hard not being able to share so much of my life with Pop."

Mrs. Pig nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." She was thinking of her boys and their white lie.

"Have you seen Pop today?" asked Cedric.

"Yes, I have," replied Mrs. Pig. "He's up and out of bed, even if he hasn't left his room. I think he was just in a bad funk."

"I've never seen him like that before," said Cedric. By now he was certain that this was about far more than the fishing hole, though he still had no idea what it could be.

"Well, it can happen from time to time," said Mrs. Pig. She ate the last bite off her plate. "This was nice, Cedric. I enjoy sharing a lunch with someone."

Schaeffer passed by their table, pushing a large box on a handcart. "Everything okay here, folks?" he asked. "Ready for dessert? We've got chocolate pudding, Cedric."

"It's tempting," said Cedric, "but I really need to get home and check on Pop. Just put the bill on my tab, okay?"

"His half," said Mrs. Pig. "I'll pay for my half right here." She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of bills. "The meal was delicious, Schaeffer."

"Thanks," said Schaeffer.

"By the way, what's in the box?" asked Cedric, gesturing to the handcart.

"I'm trying something new. I ordered a karaoke machine from a warehouse closeout and I'm thinking of starting a karaoke night. You think it'll draw a crowd?"

"I know Bert's gonna love it," said Cedric. "He's missed singing ever since our band stopped performing."

"Let us know when it's up and running," said Mrs. Pig.

"Are you coming back to the manor or do you have somewhere else to be?" asked Cedric.

"I was thinking of dropping in on George and Nicole and their cubs, but I think they'll be busy now. I'll come back to the house with you." So they left together.

As soon as he got home, Cedric went to his father's room. To his surprise Cyril wasn't there. 'Mrs. Pig was wrong,' thought Cedric as he scanned the room. He knocked on the door to the master bath, but it swung open and Cedric saw that it was dark and empty. "I wonder where Pop could have gone," Cedric wondered out loud. He went to poke around the mansion for Cyril.

At the same time, the pigs came in the house with the day's mail. Since they were still trying to stay out of their boss's sight, they left it quietly in the IN box on Cyril's desk, which had gotten pretty full during his little absence. They quibbled amongst themselves over which of them should remind him that some of his correspondences were marked as "urgent" before deciding that it was his own responsibility to run his business and, besides, he _did_ tell them that he wanted them to stay out of his sight. It would require being in his line of sight to tell him that his mailbox was overflowing.

They turned around and found themselves face to face with their boss. "Boss!"

"Yeah, it's me," said Cyril gruffly. "Don't you have work to be doing somewhere else?"

"Yes sir! Of course, sir!" The pigs tripped over each other in their mad scramble to get away from Cyril. His steely glare followed them all the way until they were gone around the corner. Then he went to his office and surveyed the situation.

First things first. He began to open the mail that the pigs had brought in. Most of it was business, and none of it interesting enough to mention until he got to an invitation from Lady Baden-Baden for one of her high society social charity events. He groaned inwardly. After the party he'd just been to, he wasn't going to feel up to another party for a long, long time. He was just about to crumple it up when Cedric and Mrs. Pig passed by the open office door and saw him.

"Pop! You're back to work!" Cedric was extremely pleased with this development.

"Yeah?" Cyril puffed his cigar. "What of it?"

"Are you feeling better today, Mr. Sneer?" asked Mrs. Pig.

"I've felt better, I've felt worse," he said.

"What's that you're holding?" asked Cedric.

"Another invitation to one of Lady Baden-Baden's parties."

"Are you going to RSVP positive?"

"No. She's holding one of these things every other week, seems like. I'll just catch the next one."

"May I see?" asked Mrs. Pig.

Cyril tossed the letter to her and turned his attention back to the inbox. "Sure, what do I care?"

"Wasn't Lady Baden-Baden the hen who was hosting the antique car show?" asked Mrs. Pig. "And the fair?"

"Yes, she was," replied Cedric.

"Oh, she throws the most wonderful parties. It's a shame you're not going."

"Maybe you should go, Pop," said Cedric. "Get out of the house for a while. A change of scenery might do you good."

Cyril held out his hand and Mrs. Pig handed the invitation back to him. "Were you planning on going?" Cyril asked Cedric.

"I can't make it," said Cedric. "Sophia is in a figure skating contest in Ottawa and I promised her I would go with her, remember?" Cedric was very nervous about leaving his father after what he'd seen the day before, but he seemed to be doing much better now and besides, a promise to Sophia was a promise that he didn't want to break. Sophia would understand why if he did, but he just couldn't bring himself to. Besides, he would be leaving Cyril in very capable hands- Mrs. Pigs if he did well, Dr. Canard's if he didn't.

"Right, right," grumbled Cyril. "You and Sofa Girl have fun. I'll just put on my good tie and listen to that hen clucking about rich socialites and all that nonsense."

"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Pig. "What cause is she supporting this time?"

Cyril checked the invitation. "It's for some environmental clean-up charity. Probably thought of it because of the fishing hole."

"That's a good cause," said Mrs. Pig.

"You wanna go?" asked Cyril.

"I would, but I couldn't afford the plate cost."

Without another word to her, Cyril picked up his phone and dialed. "Hello... yeah, it's Sneer. I just got your invitation... uh-huh... a little late, yeah... uh-huh, put me down for two... no, no, just a friend... yeah, I owe her a favor. She's helping me out. Uh-huh... see you there. Ciao." He hung up.

As Mrs. Pig listened to his end of the conversation, her face went a bit red. "Oh, Mr. Sneer, you didn't have to..."

"No, I didn't," said Cyril bluntly. "I wanted to." He took out his cigar and smashed it in his desk ashtray. "You got anything to wear?"

Mrs. Pig shook her head, still flushed. "No... I only have a few house dresses. I haven't needed to dress up in years."

Cyril nodded, then bellowed, "PIGS!"

Everything was silent for a moment before the sound of quiet clopping hooves drew closer and closer, until the three pigs ran into the room. "Yes sir, yes sir, what is it, sir?"

Cyril pulled his wallet out of his desk. "Take your mother out and help her find something to wear for one of Lady Baden-Baden's charity dinners." He tossed it and Lloyd caught it.

"Yes, sir," they all said.

"And bring me back the receipt, got it? Don't go on a shopping spree or anything."

"You don't have to-" Mrs. Pig started.

"Trust me," said Cyril, "you want to look your best at one of Lady Baden-Baden's dinners. That's just how it is."

Mrs. Pig thanked him again, and then she and the pigs left.

* * *

><p>The night of the party, Cyril put on his good top hat and tails to go to Lady Baden-Baden's event. He was waiting in the grand foyer for his companion for the night. Mrs. Pig was in the guest room changing into her new evening dress. Her sons were waiting outside the door.<p>

"That certainly was nice of Mr. Sneer, wasn't it?" Mrs. Pig said conversationally through the door. "Letting me get a new dress on his expense."

"Uh, yeah," said Boyd. It always bothered the pigs watching how differently Cyril treated other people he considered on his level, such as the various tycoons he did business with, and how kind he could be to his own kin, but it was really weird watching him treat their mother that way, especially in contrast to how he treated them.

From downstairs, Cyril called, "Are you almost ready?"

"I'll be down in a moment," she called back.

Downstairs, Cyril tapped his foot on the ground and puffed on his cigar. He pulled out his gold pocket watch and checked the time, and then glanced up as he put it away. As he did, he caught sight of Mrs. Pig coming down the stairs, her three sons trailing after him in their "evening work" getups. They were dressed slightly more fancy than they usually were, but not nearly as fancy as the rich people they served.

What really caught his eye, though, was Mrs. Pig herself. She had chosen a sky blue evening gown with cap sleeves, matching flat shoes, and a new flowered hat with gorgeous blossoms bunched in the front and tied under her chin with a piece of silk. The dress had a sash tied around her middle, flowing off to the side as she stepped delicately down the stairs, and the skirt seemed to billow on its own as she moved. When Cyril saw her, the first thing he thought was not, "Oh, great, how much did that thing cost me?" but instead, "Wow, she really looks nice in that."

"Do I look like I'll fit in?" asked Mrs. Pig. "I didn't want to spend too much, but I didn't want to be underdressed since you made it a point that I would need to dress up..."

"You look fine," said Cyril. He escorted her out to the limo, while the pigs piled into the front seat and drove them out of Sneer Mansion and down to Lady Baden-Baden's.

Cyril's mansion was like a castle- or, in a lot of ways, a fortress or a dungeon. It was made of stone, all utility, and decorated only in vain Sneer-like ornaments and portraits of him and his ancestors. In contrast, Lady Baden-Baden and Knox's estate was modern, and felt more like an enormous house than a brick dungeon. Thick oriental rugs, floor vases with exotic flowers, polished tiles and papered walls, all made her estate welcoming and open. If Cyril ever hosted a party in his home, people wouldn't know whether or not to bring their own ball and chain; Lady Baden-Baden made them feel right at home.

"I'll have to say hello to a few key business contacts," said Cyril, "or they'll think I'm snubbing them. Why don't you and your sons mingle?"

Inside the ballroom, there were tables set up along three of the walls, the fourth one dedicated to a speaking platform. All along the tables were objects on pedestals or framed pictures- an antique vase, a photograph of a yacht, an autographed first-edition hardback...

"Oh," Mrs. Pig breathed as she realized. "It's a silent auction!"

"Hm." Cyril chewed his cigar. "And I'm expected to bid on something, no doubt. Just what I need. More expensive junk."

"I don't know," said Mrs. Pig. "I'm sure there's something here that could catch your interest."

"There usually isn't." Cyril moved through the crowd. First he had to find Mr. Knox and Lady Baden-Baden, thank them for the party, apologize for the late reply, and spend a few minutes chatting business. He had heard that Mr. Mammoth's assistant was there on his own, and he tried to wedge himself into a conversation to get on the bird's good side, and work on getting an "in" with Mammoth that way. The bird seemed detached when approached, so Cyril gave up before he became pestering and went around the room, chatting with people who looked important and presenting his best side to the press, even if it did mean not snapping at those bandit-faces who represented it.

Lady Baden-Baden called everyone into the dining hall. Cyril met up with Mrs. Pig, who had been chatting with the Raccoons, and located the name card that said CYRIL SNEER. Mrs. Pig took her seat next to him, where the name card said SNEER- GUEST. The pigs would be dining elsewhere. Then Lady Baden-Baden made a grand speech about the forest, and the head of the charity made a grand speech about how it worked, and then implored the guests for donations and to bid on the many luxurious items in the hall, which had been donated to benefit the cause. Then finally, the food came out.

It was the fanciest meal Mrs. Pig had ever seen. Chilled greens, scalloped potatoes, finely sliced roast, and the ice water was even served in a crystal glass. The china was delicate and painted with tiny, intricate vines and roses all around the edge. The silverware was even real silver. Cyril snuffed out his cigar and chomped away as if he ate like this every day (when in reality, it was only once every other day or so and the rest of the time he just ate like normal.) Truth be told, she was feeling a little uncomfortable sitting here in a fancy dress purchased with someone else's money, eating expensive food that cost more than she made in a month.

"Something wrong?" asked Cyril.

"No, no," said Mrs. Pig. She couldn't very well say anything when she was the reason they were here to begin with. She'd brought it up, after all.

"Did you want the vegetarian option?" he asked. "I didn't think to ask. I can call the waiter and have him bring out a different plate."

"That's all right," said Mrs. Pig quickly. She tasted the potatoes, and they really were delicious, some of the best potatoes she'd ever had. In spite of the guilt, she was hungry, and she began to eat in earnest.

After dinner they moved back into the ballroom to make final bids. Cyril was walking down the tables slowly, trying to find something that wouldn't be a complete waste of his money. Everything just seemed so frivolous and junky to him. "Fine art?" he said aloud, looking at an early Henri de la Possum painting with disdain. "Give me fine cigars any day." He turned around and addressed Mrs. Pig, who was sticking close to him. "Come on, Suey Ellen, help me find something to bid on."

"I don't know," she said nervously. She didn't want to be responsible for an outflow of even more of his money, not when he'd already spent so much on her behalf for one event.

"If I don't bid on something, everyone's gonna know it. I need to keep up an image, you know. That's why I come to these things." He stopped by a display. It was a gorgeous pearl necklace with a heart-cut ruby set in white gold, resting on a black velvet display bust. Under the glass container was a brief description of the jewelry and its previous owners. What really caught Cyril's eye was the current highest bid. Not only was it relatively low for an event of this caliber and jewelry this fine, but the bidder was Knox, and that brought out something competitive in Cyril. For all their business partnership, Cyril still thought they worked better as rivals. He quickly scribbled down a number, double-checked to see that it couldn't be mis-read as something ridiculously high, and then pocketed the pen as if that would stop anyone else from bidding.

A minute later Lady Baden-Baden flocked up to him. "Oh, Cyril," she squawked, "you picked a fine, fine item to bid on! As soon as I saw that come past our way, I said to Knoxie, 'Oh, Knoxie, that's the most wonderful lot in the entire auction! It's going to fetch a fantastic price for our charity. And oh, how beautiful will be the woman whose neck it's lovingly draped around...'"

Cyril did not want to get involved in this conversation, and he definitely did not want Knox to find out he'd been out-bid until it was too late. "Uh, yes, Lady Baden-Baden," said Cyril. "If you don't mind, I was just going to show my guest your wonderful gardens. I assume the garden is open, as usual?"

"Oh, of course it is! I'm so proud of our beautiful garden, I wouldn't dream of shutting it down during such a meaningful event! Of course most of my guests want to keep an eye on their bids, but you're free to wander out in the moonlight for as long as you like!"

"Sounds great." Cyril took Mrs. Pig by the arm. "Come on, then... let's head outside."

There was a bright flash, and Cyril turned around and glared at Melissa Raccoon, who had just snapped a picture of him mid-escape. She smiled and waved. "Hi, Cyril. Enjoying the party?"

"I don't know why they let your kind in here," he grumbled.

"My kind?" she replied, offended. "What do you mean? Raccoons? The middle-class?"

"No," said Cyril, and then, full of disdain, "the _press_." He and Mrs. Pig headed out of the ballroom at a quick pace.

Melissa turned to Ralph. "You know, I wouldn't mind getting a few night shots of her garden for my personal collection. The moonlight is just right tonight."

"Go ahead," said Ralph. "I don't think anything is going to happen until she announces the winning bids, and you already got candids of everyone here. I'll just keep mingling and taking notes, trying to see if I can put a different spin on this event than every other one she's hosted." Ralph sighed. "How can we keep selling papers with the same story?"

"Rich people gossip sells papers," said Melissa. "You can expose scandals and corruption when there are actually some that need to get out. But right now everything's pretty quiet."

Melissa left for the garden. She saw that as soon as Cyril had gotten outside, he had turned right, so she headed left.

Cyril and Mrs. Pig were walking by a small pond that shimmered in the moonlight. There was a tiny waterfall where water trickled down mossy rocks, making a soothing sound that put guests in the garden at ease. The pond was near the edge of the garden, which was surrounded by a low hedgerow.

"Thank you for inviting me," said Mrs. Pig.

"Sorry I dragged you out here," said Cyril. "I had to think fast. Lady Baden-Baden is kind of smothering."

"I don't mind," said Mrs. Pig. "I remember seeing these gardens the last time I was here. I wanted to get a closer look, but I didn't get the chance."

"Well, here's your chance."

"Do you not like Lady Baden-Baden?" asked Mrs. Pig.

"Hm? No, I like her just fine. In small doses." He let out a short laugh. "Would you believe I almost ended up married to her once?"

Mrs. Pig laughed with him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Long story. Now Knox is stuck with her, so it all worked out."

"Have you been married?" asked Mrs. Pig.

"Well, yeah. To Cedric's mother."

"I mean after that."

Cyril shook his head. "No. I was never really with anyone after Cheryl died. How about you?"

"No," said Mrs. Pig. "I never had the chance. Raising three boys is a full-time job. Add that to the full-time job I already had to work to support them, and, well, there you are."

"Yeah. They are a handful, aren't they?"

"They're good boys," said Mrs. Pig. She sighed, remembering why she was here to begin with. "They just get in a lot of trouble, that's all."

"Tell me about it." Cyril snorted. "Cedric was easy. Did his homework, cleaned his room..."

They passed a small alcove under a weeping willow, with a stone bench, and the perimeter surrounded by white roses. Cyril made a beeline for the seat so he could get off his feet. Mrs. Pig sat down next to him.

"Mr. Sneer," said Mrs. Pig, "why did you bid on that necklace?"

"Huh?" It took him a moment to remember. "Oh, right! Because Knox wanted it."

"What are you going to do with it if you win it? Surely you don't wear jewelry."

"No, no..."

"You could give it to Cedric to give to Sophia."

"If Cedric wants to give a gift to that girl, he'll have to buy it himself. I guess I don't really know what I'm going to do with it."

"Well, I can't accept it."

Cyril looked surprised. "I thought you were trying to get me to ask you if you wanted it. Why go out of your way to say you don't want it?"

"Truth be told, I'm just not used to people spending money on me. My late husband, well, we weren't poor, but he was blue collar so we never had a lot of money to spend on frivolous things. Now you let me buy this dress and take me to a fancy expensive dinner, and if I ended up with the necklace I could never wear it without feeling guilty, and not wearing it would make me feel even more guilty..."

Cyril cut her off. "Look, it's not a lot of money for me, I promise."

"But still..."

"And besides..." He shifted uncomfortably and moved his feet, which suddenly felt awkward and in the way. "Well, I wanted to do you a favor."

"All I did was eat ice cream and chat with you," said Mrs. Pig. "It's not that big a thing."

"It wasn't what you did. It's, well... you made me feel happy. So... I guess I wanted to make you feel as good as I did. When we were talking."

Mrs. Pig looked up at Cyril. "You mean that?"

"Ever since you came here, I've been in a good mood. It's you. You're making me smile again."

Cyril didn't even think about it. He just did what felt right. He leaned in and kissed her.

At that exact moment, Melissa Raccoon was walking past the willow tree. She had her hands on the camera, letting it hang loose at strap length, so she could lift it up and snap a picture as quickly as possible. When she saw the two of them under the willow, she snapped a picture without even thinking about it. The flash alerted Floyd, who was on the other side of the hedgerow taking one of the trash cans to the edge of the road for pickup in the morning, to peek through the shrubbery and see what was going on under the willow tree that was worth taking a picture of.

A second later, Cyril would be chasing off Melissa, who would already be running back to the party with her camera where there would be too many witnesses for him to strangle her. And Floyd would be racing shrieking back to the kitchen to tell his brothers what he saw.

But for that one moment, under the willow tree in the moonlight, everything was magical and perfect.


	4. Chapter 3

_Two things before we get started. First and foremost, I would like to deeply thank everyone who took the time to comment on my story. It means a great deal to me that you're enjoying this story, and it makes me feel very happy when you reach out like that. So thank you._

_Okay, next._

_Confession time: I'm not really that into writing shipping fics. I have nothing against them, nor against anybody who writes them. It's not like that. It's just that, so many times in an active fandom, you look at the source material and wonder, "How many other avenues are there to explore that the original never will?" Either it can't, or it won't, or it's not interested in it. Whatever the reason, we write fanfiction because the original can't tell us everything about everything. But too many times, the only question the fandom seems to be asking, "What if these two characters totally kissed?" And then they totally do. And don't get me wrong, it can be awesome. It's just, when there is so much fanfiction out there shipping, ranging from barely literate to someone who could be the Jane Austen of fanfiction, I don't think I have anything to add. Usually I'll stick with canon parings and not make that the focus of the story._

_This story sort of came out of a joke over lunch at a local burger place with my brother and my boyfriend. I was talking about how I didn't really like it when everybody has to be paired up with someone, and whenever two characters are together onscreen, they have to be in a romantic relationship. I think I was just mad and venting about something in a different show, when two characters I thought had a cute friendship had to be put in a romantic relationship. I'm like, isn't there anything else besides romantic relationships? Oh, hey, Cyril Sneer and Mrs. Pig hung out before. They must be in love!_

_Of course, we started laughing about how that would affect the pigs, with the main motif in our verbal horseplay being the squealy one constantly screaming, "He's kissing our mom!" But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was different from the kind of shipping fics I was tired of. Let's face it, a lot of fanfiction is written by teenagers, and a lot of romance is written from that perspective. Romanticized and inexperienced. Or a lot of it is flowery and idealized, getting two characters together without addressing the canon consequences. Not all of it, of course. Far from all of it. I was just disillusioned by what I'd been seeing far too much of for far too long._

_This is something that takes a completely different direction. These aren't young birds falling in love for the first time. They've both been in love, and married, and _lost_ the one they were married to in undisclosed circumstances. They've raised families and moved on. There's no sappy love theme, no purple prose (at least, I hope not. I count on my reviewers to keep me in check), but there's still a connection. There's maturity. I'm no longer a mooney-eyed teenager who wants her two favorite characters together. It's a reflection on how love can still happen even in a much later stage of life, and what that love might look like. _

_And yes, then they totally kissed._

* * *

><p>Floyd ran screaming into the kitchen, where the pigs were helping Lady Baden-Baden's house staff for the evening. Currently they were bagging all the trash from the party, sorting out the recycling, and getting it out for curb pick-up in the morning so that the usual staff could focus on the guests.<p>

"What is it?" asked Lloyd as his brother came careening into the kitchen and crashed face-first into the island.

"I saw- out in the garden- him and her-"

"Why were you in the garden?" asked Lloyd. "Weren't you supposed to be taking out a load of trash?"

"Part of the garden is next to the driveway," said Boyd.

"Oh, yeah."

"Under the tree- and they were kissing!"

"Who was?"

"The boss!"

"Kissing who?" The other two pigs didn't understand why the sight of their boss kissing someone was freaking Floyd out so much.

"_Our mom!_" Floyd shrieked.

Boyd got an ice pack for Floyd's snout. "Wait, what?"

Floyd pressed the pack against his face. "He's kissing our mom!"

"You mean the boss and..."

Floyd nodded eagerly, glad they finally got it. "Yes! He's kissing our mom!"

"Oh, wow," said Boyd. "I... uh, I don't know if that's such a good..."

"We can't let him know you saw him," said Lloyd.

"But he was kissing our mom!" insisted Floyd.

"Right, and for now, we don't want anyone to know. You know how the boss gets when we find out things he doesn't want us to know."

"But we have a right to know! It's our mom!"

"Then we'll wait for her to tell us."

Floyd looked at his brothers, and then threw his hands up. "He's kissing our mom!" he shrieked again.

"Well, now you're in here, so you don't have to look at it anymore."

* * *

><p>The next morning, when Floyd went out to get the Evergreen Standard off the porch, he nearly had a stroke. There, on the front cover in black and white, was Cyril Sneer kissing Mrs. Pig under the willow tree.<p>

Cyril was woken up quite suddenly by a shrill squealing that grew louder and louder and louder, and then quieter and quieter as the source of it streaked past his room, the echo of the squeal bouncing off the walls down the hallway back to him. Cyril threw on his robe and stormed down the hall to the stairwell that lead to the pig's basement room, where Floyd was trying to open the door but couldn't because he was that frantic.

"Give me that!" Cyril snarled, snatching the paper. Floyd had a death grip on it, though, and didn't let go. Cyril tugged and tugged, and then finally just let go, causing Floyd to fall backwards onto the ground. He opened the door and kicked Floyd through it. Cyril had caught a brief glimpse, but he didn't have to be a genius to figure out what could be on the front page that was upsetting Floyd so much. He stormed back up the hall to the nearest phone.

Floyd bounced down the stairwell until he skidded to a stop in front of his brothers.

"Starting a little early today, aren't you, Floyd?" said Boyd. He was heading into their dingy little bathroom to brush his teeth.

Floyd thrust up the paper. "He's kissing our mom!" he said.

"We know, we know," said Lloyd. "You haven't stopped saying that since last night."

"Now he's kissing her in the newspaper!"

Lloyd snatched the paper from Floyd. This time it was successfully removed from his hands. "Well, now we don't have to keep it a secret that we know," he said.

"I wasn't going to, anyway," Boyd called from the other room through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Anyway," said Lloyd, "as long as Mom is happy, we should be happy for her."

Boyd spat the toothpaste out into the sink. "How about this," he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he rejoined his brothers. "Maybe now that Mom and the boss are so friendly with each other, he'll start treating us better."

"But he's kissing-"

"Kissing our mom, I know," said Lloyd. "Go freak out somewhere else, okay?!"

Floyd got up and sulked out of the room.

* * *

><p>At the offices of the Evergreen Standard, the raccoons were already hard at work on the next day's edition. Melissa, Ralph, and Bert were all working on various aspects. Ralph, in particular, was planning the layout of the next issue. He was holding up the current paper and looking at it in a dissatisfied way.<p>

"Something wrong, Ralph?"

"I just don't think this is front page material," said Ralph. "It's gossip, plain and simple. It's not news what rich person is dating whom. That's what other newspapers do, and they always end up being trashy."

"It's a good picture, though," said Melissa. "And it sells papers."

"I don't just want to sell papers, though," said Ralph. "I want to print papers worth buying."

Melissa nodded with understanding.

"Although," Ralph added, "I do like how it gets under Cyril's skin."

Bert coughed from over at his desk.

"Something wrong, Bert?"

"Huh? Oh, no, no, of course not!" Bert said quickly.

"Except...?"

"Well, I don't know if I should say..." Bert trailed off and then went back to his typewriter, quickly pressing random keys to appear too busy to bother.

"What is it, Bert?" Melissa pressed.

Bert couldn't keep it in any longer. "It's just that the other day Cyril was feeling really sick and they needed Cedric to come home right away to take care of him. I don't know. This might be a little much for him."

Melissa looked at the picture on the front page from her own copy of the paper. "I don't know," she said, "he looks fine to me."

"Sometimes these things come and go," said Bert.

"If he really is sick, why would Cedric leave to watch a skating competition?" Ralph pointed out. "It can't be that serious."

"Who knows? Maybe Cyril just doesn't want his son missing out. Maybe he's been sick for a long time and everyone at the house knows it. It's nothing new- it's just getting worse."

"Well, don't jump to any conclusions," said Ralph. "That's his business for now." He held up the paper. "Just like this is his business. I don't mind running a story like this every now and again on a slow news day, but I don't want to turn into a supermarket tabloid, okay?"

"Okay, Ralph," said Melissa. "From now on I'll keep pictures like that for my private collection."

"Good," said Ralph. Then, suddenly, "Wait, what private collection?"

Melissa gave him a sly grin.

"What other kinds of photos are in a collection where this kind of picture would be at home?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know," said Melissa, and she went back to typing.

* * *

><p>On his way back to his room, Cyril bumped into Mrs. Pig. "Oh! Excuse me," he said. Then he cleared his throat. "Did you happen to see the newspaper this morning?"<p>

"I have a good idea of what's in it," replied Mrs. Pig.

"Don't worry, I'm about to call the Evergreen Standard and give them a piece of my-"

Mrs. Pig held up a hand. "Please, don't. It's really not a problem. I think we should just ignore it. Who cares what everyone else has to say?"

"Uh..." It hadn't occurred to Cyril that Mrs. Pig wouldn't be upset or embarrassed over the picture. He was all ready to chew out the newspaper on their behalf, and here she was calm as could be.

"Right now I think I need to talk to my sons about it. I really didn't think they would find out about last night..."

"Yeah, but about last night..." Cyril cleared his throat. They hadn't had a chance to talk about it. After Cyril chased Melissa back into the ballroom, he had gathered everyone together and they had all gone home. The car ride back was completely silent, except for one of the pigs hyperventilating in the front seat. After that they had all gone to bed.

"About last night," Cyril repeated. "What was it?"

"It was wonderful," said Mrs. Pig. "And I wouldn't mind if there were many more nights like it." She smiled at him. She had a beautiful smile.

Cyril grinned. "Great." He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Why don't you go talk to your boys? I'll open up for the day."

Mrs. Pig left and went down to her son's room. She found them all just finishing getting dressed. Floyd was lying on the ground on his back spread eagle and staring at the ceiling.

"I take it you saw the newspaper this morning," said Mrs. Pig.

Lloyd and Boyd nodded. "Actually," added Lloyd, "Floyd saw the real thing last night."

Floyd mumbled something under his breath that sounded remarkably like "kissing our mom."

"Come sit down, boys." She sat down on the edge of one of the beds, and Lloyd and Boyd sat down on the floor in front of her. "As you already know, your boss and I took a walk in the garden last night, where he chose to... express romantic feelings for me-"

Floyd covered his ears. "La la la la la la la not la la listening!"

"And truth be told, after I thought about it, I think I might feel that same way about him."

"But you're supposed to be here for _us_," said Boyd.

"I'm here for you," said Mrs. Pig. "I'll always be here for you. I'm just also doing a little something for myself. You understand, don't you, boys?"

"Yes, mom," said two of the pigs.

"I knew you would." She kissed the two on the top of their heads. "You're such good boys." She knelt down and kissed Floyd on the snout. He immediately stopped singing. "You be good today, all right?"

"Yes, Mom," said all three.

"When you're done with work, we should have a little talk about your court appearance. How does that sound?"

"Just fine, Mom," they replied.

"Good. I've been thinking I should make you some nice new suits to wear..."

* * *

><p>When it was closing time for the Evergreen Standard, they still hadn't received a call from Cyril. At first Ralph and Melissa hadn't taken Bert seriously, but as the hours went by with no tirade from an angry aardvark, they began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the reason for that was because he wasn't feeling up to it.<p>

"I'm telling you," said Bert, "he's totally spent from the party. That was all the energy he had for the week. He won't be able to yell at you until at least next Tuesday, and that'll be it for the next week."

"You're way off, Bert," said Ralph. He was trying to set up the press for running off the next issue.

"Then why hasn't he called to chew you out like you do every time you run his picture?"

Melissa shrugged. "Maybe it just didn't bother him."

"Didn't bother him?! Are you listening to yourself? Didn't bother him? Everything bothers him! You ran a picture of him skipping stones at the river and he threatened to sue us into oblivion! And now you print a personal candid and he just lets it roll off his back?"

"Well, he has matured," said Melissa.

"Making environmentally friendly products and giving the press free reign over reporting your life are two different things, Melissa," said Bert.

"That's true," mused Ralph.

"So you agree with me!"

"I didn't say that," Ralph responded. "I'm just beginning to think that it kind of makes sense."

"Don't you start," said Melissa. "Look, when Cedric gets home we'll ask him, but until then I don't want to hear any more rumors."

"Isn't that what you want to run, though? Rumors and gossip?"

"Gossip might not be news, but it was still fact, Ralph."

Ralph picked up the papers on the edge of his desk and tapped them heavily, signifying that the conversation was over. Melissa agreed.

* * *

><p>Back at Sneer Manor, a new visitor arrived. This one was previously unknown to the residents and guest. He was a sleek, brown weasel with a white tummy and a nicely pressed suit, clutching a briefcase in his left paw. He rapped with the doorknocker three times, and in a moment the pigs answered.<p>

"Yes?" they all said at the same time.

"Hello, yes, my name is Linus Mustela. I'm a defense attorney. I received a call from a mister Cyril Sneer, asking for my assistance in an upcoming hearing."

"That would be for us," said Lloyd, "but there's no way the boss would have called you about it. He isn't speaking to us."

"Except to give orders," added Boyd.

Linus shrugged. "Okay, you got me. I just heard about the case and thought I'd drop by. Here's my card, if you're interested."

Lloyd took his card. "Thanks," he said, "but I think you're a little out of our price range."

"Yeah," said Boyd, "there's no way the boss is going to foot the bill for something this-"

Just then, Cyril bellowed from inside the mansion, "Who's at the door?"

"Linus Mustela!" Floyd shouted back.

"Linus Mustela? What's he want?"

"To represent us in court!"

Linus put his paws over his ears and winced.

"Wait a minute, I'll be right there..." A minute later, the pigs were yanked from the doorway and were replaced by Cyril. "So, you're the famous Mustela, huh? Not much to look at."

"I believe you've seen my work in the courtroom, yes?" Linus asked.

"Yeah. I hear you're good."

"Well, I've been following the case of Midas and the environmental dumping, and I really think-"

"That you could get some great publicity for yourself?" Cyril finished snidely.

"No," said Linus, "that representing the pigs would be both challenging and lucrative."

"Well, I already have a lawyer," said Cyril.

"A corporate attorney," said Linus. "That's different. Have you even asked him about this?"

Cyril hadn't intended on giving his pigs any legal help whatsoever, to tell the truth. Now, though, he took Linus's business card and looked it over. "Hm. I'll think about it." Then he closed the door in Linus's face.

Linus, who had heard a lot about Cyril's temperament, didn't take it personally and he didn't write anything off. He just turned around and padded down the stairs, confident that Cyril would soon be contacting him.

* * *

><p>"You've been talking to the pigs about their court date?" Cyril asked.<p>

Mrs. Pig was caught off guard, because she had been sitting in her room and embroidering. Cyril was leaning in the doorway, puffing on his cigar, and looking at her with his head tilted down. He'd just come in and said it.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pig. "I've been talking to them about what they're going to say, and how they'll be polite and well-dressed, and-"

"-And they'll get sent up the river along with Midas," finished Cyril. "Good manners aren't going to make them less guilty."

Mrs. Pig frowned. "I don't know what you're trying to say, Mr. Sn- _Cyril_," she changed familiarity levels mid-phrase, seeing as how they were on a different level now.

"They need a good lawyer," said Cyril. "A mother's touch will go far, but they need a good defense to build on."

"I don't really have-"

"They're my employees," said Cyril, "so I'll foot it. It'll come out of their paychecks if they win."

Mrs. Pig bowed her head so he wouldn't see her face flush. "Oh, Cyril, I don't know what to say... you're being so generous to me."

"Again," said Cyril gruffly, "it's not a lot of money."

"I'd heard you part with your money as easily as a mother eagle parts with her chicks," said Mrs. Pig.

"Who told you that?! The raccoons? Have you been talking to the raccoons about me?"

"Calm down, Cyril," said Mrs. Pig gently.

Cyril chewed on his cigar and scowled, but didn't say anything more about the raccoons. Then he left for his office. He turned the business card over in his hand as he picked up the phone, then he dialed. "Hello? Yeah, it's Sneer here. Linus Mustela, right? When are you available for a meeting?"

* * *

><p>The next day, the doorbell rang again, and again, the pigs answered it. Again, it was Linus, only this time he didn't get the brush-off.<p>

"I got a call from Mr. Sneer to have an introductory meeting with you," he said. "Is now good?"

"Uh, sure," said Lloyd. "We aren't working right now..." he glanced at his brothers.

Boyd shrugged. "I'm good with it."

"Are you crazy?" Floyd shrieked.

"What? What's wrong now?" Lloyd was annoyed.

"We'll be with you in a second," said Boyd.

Floyd grabbed his brothers by the collars and kicked the door shut. Floyd shouted at his brothers on the other side, "The only reason he's doing this is because he kissed our mom!"

"Are you _still_ stuck on that?" Lloyd growled.

"One minute he hates us, then all of a sudden he's paying for a pricy lawyer? Doesn't this bother you even a little?"

"Are you kidding?" Boyd piped up. "This is the best thing that could happen!"

Floyd's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Look, as long as he wants to say on our mom's good side, he'll have to treat us better. You said it yourself! One minute he can't stand the sight of us, the next he's hiring fancy lawyers! And all we have to put up with is-"

"The fact that he's kissing our mom!"

Just then the door opened. Cedric was standing in the doorway. "Um, is there a reason famous defense attorney Linus Mustela is sitting on our porch stairs?"

"Master Cedric!" Floyd squealed. "You're on my side in this, right?"

"Um... that depends on what 'this' is."

Floyd opened his mouth, and Lloyd quickly shut it. "Our mom and your dad are in love," said Lloyd patiently.

"They're very happy together," added Boyd.

Surprised, Cedric looked at each of the pigs. "Oh." He seemed to be unsure if they were serious.

Floyd held up the picture from the _Standard_.

"If it bothers you so much, why do you carry it around?" muttered Boyd.

Cedric took the picture and scrutinized it. "Pop and Mrs. Pig?"

With his mouth still forcibly shut, all Floyd could do was nod eagerly.

Just then Cyril came up to the group. "Outta my way. Isn't there a better place to be having this conversation?"

"Pop!"

Cyril beamed. "Cedric, my boy! When did you get back?"

"Just now. Is it true?" He gestured to the picture.

"Yes, it's true."

Cedric smiled. "I'm happy for you."

Floyd screamed in frustration.

"How'd the competition go?" asked Cyril.

"So-so. Sophia only placed fourth."

"Fourth? That's not so bad." Cyril pat his son on the shoulder.

Cedric blinked a few times in surprise at Cyril's compliment towards his girlfriend.

"Now that you're back, do you mind watching the office? I want to take Suey Ellen out to Jack Pine for a picnic lunch."

"Sure, Pop. Just be back by dinner. Me and Sophia are having dinner at the Blue Spruce Café. To celebrate and check out the new karaoke machine."

"Sounds fun. Maybe we'll join you." Cyril left.

Cedric turned to the pigs. "Has he been like this the whole time I've been gone?"

Boyd nodded. "Pretty much."

There was a light rap on the door. "Excuse me?" said Linus, voice muffled by the thick wood. "I don't mean to pester, but are we having this meeting or not?"

Lloyd opened the door. Floyd bolted out without a word as Linus stepped in. "All right," he said. "Let's go over this."

* * *

><p>Cyril got his yacht and sailed Mrs. Pig to Jack Pine Island in style. "This is a great spot," said Cyril. "I always wanted to buy it and put a resort on it, but the province wouldn't sell."<p>

"I think it's nice as it is," said Mrs. Pig a she stepped onto the shore.

Cyril stepped down behind her. "You might be on to something," he mused. "So what do you want to do first? Climb the tallest tree? Sail up the longest river?"

Mrs. Pig laughed gently. "How about we start with that picnic?"'

"Yeah, that sounds right." Cyril spread out the checkered blanket.

_In everybody's life, just once  
><em>_Hopefully twice  
><em>_Someone will write you a song_

They ate and talked, and laughed. At one point, Cyril tried to feed her sandwich as she tipped a glass of juice into his mouth. Unfortunately, because of the awkward positioning she was way off. It went up his nose instead and he sneezed juice all over her. They both laughed.

_In everybody's life, just once  
><em>_Hope for it twice  
><em>_Someone like you comes along_

And he did try to climb the tallest tree for her, but he only made it two branches up before it snapped and he fell on his back. She leaned over him, concerned, but he smiled up at her. As long as she was around, he felt that there was nothing that could hurt him... although his back was probably going to be pretty sore come morning.

_And gets me singing  
><em>_All through the night_

He pulled her down into the brush next to him. She was so surprised she squealed. He squeezed her close to him.

_When you're singing  
><em>_I hold you so tight_

They got up, and Cyril led her deeper into the forest, up the islands highest hill. He held her hand tightly as he guided her through the trees.

_When you're singing  
><em>_You make it so right_

And from the highest point on the island, they could see every inch of the Evergreen Forest, all the way to the mountains in the distance. She wrapped her arm around his, leaning into him. And for the longest time, he just sat there, drawing comfort from the one he loved and admiring the gorgeous scenery, all the while washed over with a warm feeling, a feeling of being eternally grateful...

_That someone like you came along._


	5. Chapter 4

Floyd barged into the Evergreen Standard. "Where's your morgue?" he shouted.

Ralph jumped a mile. Melissa's typewriter carriage returned. Bert fell out of his chair.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" said Ralph, trying to compose himself.

"You know, where do you keep all your old newspaper articles?"

"Ohh," Ralph nodded. "They're stored on microfilm in a room at the museum. Professor Smedley-Smyth-"

Floyd slammed the door and was gone.

"... generously allows us some storage space," Ralph finished lamely.

"I didn't know that was called a morgue," said Bert.

Melissa reset her typewriter. "He certainly seemed to be in a hurry."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Floyd's brothers were in their room, where Linus Mustela was going over the details of their case. Currently, it was not going well.<p>

"So let me get this straight." Linus pinched the bridge of his nose. "You went to a seedy warehouse in the middle of the night to claim unmarked barrels and dumped them off the edge of a hill where you didn't know what was at the bottom of it?"

"Uh..." the pigs looked down sheepishly. "Yes."

"Okay. I think I can work with this. You were moonlighting, hence the unusual time... 'moon-light.' I think they'll believe you had no reason to believe the barrels were deadly if they were unmarked. And it was dark, so you could have thought you were down through the approved dumping zone."

"That sounds like a lie," said Boyd.

"That's not a lie. That's spin," said Linus. "Unless you _want_ to go to prison."

"No!" said the pigs quickly.

"Good. Now. Let's practice saying it like nice little victims..."

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Ralph and Melissa walked into the Blue Spruce Café holding hands. "Crowded tonight," said Ralph as he scanned the tables, all seemingly full. "Table for two, Schaeffer?"<p>

"Over here." Schaeffer gestured towards a small table in the corner. "I knew you were coming so I made sure to hold one for you. Care to sign up for karaoke?"

"No thanks," said Ralph as Melissa said, "Sure, why not?"

They both looked at each other.

"Come on, Ralph," urged Melissa. "It'll be fun."

"I'm not a singer," said Ralph. "Go ahead, Melissa. I'll watch you."

Melissa signed up and picked her song. Meanwhile, Bert finished his song and jumped off the stage. "Yahoo! That was so much fun! Hey, Ralphie-boy!" He spotted his friend and made a beeline for the table where Ralph was just sitting down. Upon arriving he slapped his friend on the back. "Didja see me sing?"

"I heard the last few bars," said Ralph. "Not bad."

"I'm gonna go sign up again! This is fun!" He bounded off for the counter, passing Melissa as she returned to Ralph.

Bert spotted Cedric and Sophia on his way to the counter. They were sitting at a table for four with two empty chairs. "Hey, Cedric! Sophia! How was the show?"

Sophia proudly held up her 4th place ribbon. "I didn't get a trophy, but I placed."

"Wow," said Bert. "They musta been amazing if they managed to out-skate you. What, were they penguins?"

Sophia giggled. "No, just native birds."

"So, uh, how's your dad, Cedric?" asked Bert. He wasn't sure how much Cedric would say in front of Sophia, but if he opened up to anyone, it'd be those two.

"See for yourself," said Cedric. He pointed over Bert's shoulder, Bert turned around and was face-to-face with Cyril Sneer. "Oh, uh, hey, Mr. Sneer," said Bert with nervous politeness.

"Come sit with us," said Cedric to his father, gesturing to the two empty seats.

Bert quietly excused himself as Cyril and Mrs. Pig sat down in the empty chairs. "So, how's the entertainment tonight?" asked Cyril.

"Melissa's about to give the karaoke machine a spin," said Sophia.

On stage, the sound of a piano and horn kicked in. Melissa held the microphone in both her paws as she scanned the screen for the upcoming lyrics. She started out with an uncertain voice which got stronger as she went along:

_Don't know why I feel like crying  
><em>_Full moon's rising through the trees  
><em>_Mountains are the night horizon  
><em>_Just in case the lake might freeze..._

"She's pretty good," said Cedric.

"Do you think we should sing something?" asked Sophia.

"That would be nice," said Mrs. Pig. "Would you like to sing with me, Cyril?"

"No," said Cyril. "I don't do that."

"It'll be fun," said Cedric. "There are a lot of duets you can pick from."

At Mrs. Pig's insistence, Cyril heaved himself up like it was some monstrous effort and trudged over with her to the bar with a book listing all of the songs they could sing. Sophia and Cedric watched over the older couple's shoulders.

"Here I Go Again... All Life Long... Friends... One More Night... To Have You... When The Sun Comes Up..." Cedric read aloud.

"Never heard of any of these songs," said Cyril.

"We'll do this one," said Cedric, pointing to the book. "'To Have You.'"

"Oh, I love that song," said Sophia with a dreamy sigh.

"Schaeffer, how do we sign up?"

Schaeffer pushed a clipboard towards them. "Just write your name and song number in the next available spot."

The party went back to the table. While they were gone, someone had left a binder right in the center of the table. It was thick, with a transparent pocket cover. A piece of paper had been slipped in, with letters cut out of today's _Evergreen Standard_ arranged to read "Cyril Sneer: A History. For Mrs. Pig."

"How strange," said Mrs. Pig, taking her seat and pulling the binder towards her. "Who do you suppose left this?"

"And what's in it?" added Sophia.

She opened the binder. It was filled with plastic page protectors covering pieces of cardstock with news clippings pasted onto them. The first clipping read: "Evergreen Forest to be Leveled for Sneer High Rises."

"Oh, my," said Mrs. Pig.

"I wasn't going to level the entire forest!" Cyril sputtered. "Besides, that project never came to light."

Mrs. Pig flipped the page. There, in black and white, was the news story protesting his decision to pave the entire forest for some peace and quiet.

"Those photos were taken out of context!" Cyril argued.

Page after page of headlines where Cyril's antics made the front page of the _Standard_ followed. The time he faked a lake monster to build a theme park. The time he spent in jail for stealing the Prism of Zenda. How he'd tried to silence the press by cutting off their supplies. There was no shortage of headlines, and someone had meticulously printed, cut, and paste them in this scrapbook of shame.

Mrs. Pig looked up at Cyril, who was staring at her with big eyes that were both sad and scared, his mouth open to say something that just wasn't coming. "Excuse me," said Mrs. Pig. She stood up and hurried off to the ladies room.

Cyril looked helplessly at his son. "What do I do?"

Sophia stood up. 'I'll go after her," she said, and quickly hurried off.

Cyril stood up and hurried over to the bar. "If there's any justice in this world, you'll have what I'm looking for," he grumbled under his breath. "A-ha!" He slapped his palm on the bar. "You! Mutt! Schaeffer!"

Schaeffer, who was busy cleaning a glass, gave Cyril an impatient look. It was amazing how much emotion he could express without ever showing his eyes.

Cyril grunted. "Please," he said gruffly, "Play this song for me."

Schaeffer glanced down at the book. "Hmm," he said. "I think I could squeeze you in next." He looked at Cyril expectantly.

Cyril stared at him. Then, realizing what Schaeffer was waiting for, rolled his eyes and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Schaeffer.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Pig was powdering her snout in the bathroom mirror. Sophia was standing behind her. "So you really didn't know what Mr. Sneer was like?" asked Sophia.

"No, I didn't," replied Mrs. Pig. "I had never heard of him before my boys told me that he was working for them- or that they were working for him, as it turned out. We don't get a lot of Evergreen Forest news way out where I live. A few times in their letters they mentioned he was difficult, but we always got along so well I didn't think about it."

"You mean you never heard he was..."

They both let the unsaid adjectives hang in the air. Greedy. Selfish. Tyrannical. Cruel. Rude. The list could go on.

"He doesn't like me very much," admitted Sophia. "It takes a lot to get on his good side."

"I already am on his good side," said Mrs. Pig.

"It's a nice place to be."

"But that doesn't make everything else he does okay," Mrs. Pig finished. "Just because he's nice to me, I can't ignore how he is to everyone else. It was different when he was just cranky and short with others. But when he's so unethical? Immoral? I can't ignore that."

"He's an environmental crusader now," said Sophia. "I think he's trying to change, and he has been for a while."

"I just don't know," said Mrs. Pig.

A toilet flushed and Lisa Raccoon came out of the stall. "Sorry," she said, striding over to the sink to wash her hands. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing. I'm Lisa Raccoon. I'm new in the forest." She held up her soapy hands. "I'd shake your hand, but, well..." She rinsed them off. "I just wanted to say that Bert and Uncle Ralph and Aunt Melissa are always hard on Cyril, but he's always been nice to me and Bentley. He's always got time for Bentley and he gives me some really good advice. The Standard never really talks about that."

She dried her hands on the paper towel and then pitched it into the trash can across the room. It made it in, and she grinned. "I guess they have a lot of history with him that I don't, but I think he's okay."

Mrs. Pig nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for your input, Lisa."

"No problem. See you, Soph." Lisa waved and left.

Mrs. Pig took a deep breath. "I think Cyril and I need to have a long talk."

"That's a good start," said Sophia.

Mrs. Pig opened the bathroom door and stepped out. She was immediately greeted by a squeal of microphone feedback.

Cyril Sneer was onstage, adjusting the mic. "How do you work this thing? Oh, there we go..." He tapped the karaoke screen. Some lively music started playing. He looked around the room, spotted Mrs. Pig, and began to sing directly to her:

_It looks like you just found out  
><em>_I did something rotten  
><em>_But as turns out I'd  
><em>_Already forgotten  
><em>_I've done lots of bad things  
><em>_That's already been put in my past_

_And I'd like to tell you  
><em>_That I'm already changing  
><em>_But you've got to see that  
><em>_I'm right now rearranging  
><em>_With your own eyes  
><em>_Then you might believe me at last_

_You know how I love you  
><em>_You know I really want you_

_So if you will let me  
><em>_I'll show you who I can be  
><em>_There is no other option  
><em>_For us, there is no plan B  
><em>_You don't have to trust me  
><em>_You only have to hang on, wait, and see_

_You know how I love you  
><em>_You know I really want you_

_Don't you ever give up  
><em>_Don't you ever, ever, ever give up on me  
><em>_Don't you ever give up  
><em>_Please, don't ever, ever, ever give up on me..._

The music faded and Cyril slid the microphone back into the stand. He looked at Mrs. Pig, ears down, eyes mournful, just staring at her longingly.

Mrs. Pig walked up to the stage, climbed up, and kissed him on the nose. "Oh, Cyril... I love you. Everything else will work out if we work at it. We have plenty of time to do that." She took his hand. "Let's go back to the mansion and have a good, long talk."

The café crowd cheered at them, except for one scream of frustration that was drowned out. Floyd was hiding behind a potted fern, tearing at a newspaper with holes cut in the headlines. "A whole day, wasted!" he cried out before storming from the establishment unnoticed.

* * *

><p>Lloyd and Boyd were pretty much giving Floyd a wide berth, as he'd gone a bit off the deep end over the whole mom-kissing ordeal. They had no idea of how far he had gone regarding the archive binder he'd given to their mother, nor did they suspect he was cooking up another scheme. They were far too busy with Linus going over how they were going to act on their court date, which was rapidly approaching. Mrs. Pig spent time watching them, sitting on a chair working on her needlepoint and adding her advice where she felt it was necessary. All that really mattered was that she was there.<p>

"Okay," Linus said to them. It was the next day, and he and the three little pigs were practicing in their room with Mrs. Pig. "Show me your sad faces."

Right away the two pigs put on the longest, saddest faces they could. "We didn't know what was in the barrels," said Boyd sadly. "We thought they were just ordinary drums."

"And they were sealed tight," added Lloyd, "so we couldn't open them and check."

Mrs. Pig smiled. "Those are my boys," she said with a strange sort of sad pride in her voice.

"Not bad, not bad," said Linus. "I can see you've been practicing."

"That's right," said Boyd. "We even recorded ourselves and watched the tapes like you told us to."

Floyd's ears perked up. "Wait, when did you do that? Where did you get a camera?"

"We did it while _you_ were moping about Mom," said Lloyd.

"Yeah, and we just used the old security cameras. You know, the ones we hooked the computer system into a while ago."

"I thought the computer was completely fried," said Floyd.

"No," said Boyd, "just the security system. That's been deactivated it and the boss doesn't use the whole system anymore, but the cameras have always worked. Lloyd makes backups of the tapes every night for archival."

"... How far back to they go?" asked Floyd cautiously.

"Five years," said Lloyd. "But I've started taping over all the oldest ones."

Floyd jumped up. "That's it!" he shrieked. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a diary and bolted from the room.

The others watched him go.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Mrs. Pig said.

Boyd turned to Linus and asked, "Is it too late to ask to be tried separately?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Linus. "Do you want to try and wrangle him back?"

"No," said Lloyd. "Let's just go over this again..."

* * *

><p>Though Mrs. Pig still spent time with Cyril, she kept her promise to make her boys wonderful new suits to impress the judge, black jackets with white shirts and dark ties. On the morning of their court date, the pigs woke up and found three new suits lying out on the dresser with a note saying, "Surprise! Love you boys! -Mom" and a few hearts drawn.<p>

Lloyd picked up the suit and ran it between his fingers. "Wow. Mom still makes the best clothes."

"I love her stitching," cooed Boyd. He changed out of his jammies and into the suit in record time so he could test the fit. "Aww, she still remembers my waist size."

"This fabric is too nice," grumbled Floyd. "The boss probably bought it for her."

"So what? Mom still made it," said Lloyd, who was also changing. "I'm getting really tired of your attitude about this."

"Yeah," added Boyd. "Mom's been here for us the whole time. You just haven't been around because you're too traumatized by the best thing to ever happen to us!"

"Can we not do this right now?" Lloyd said curtly. "The judge isn't going to like it if we fight in court today."

There was a knock on the door. "May I come in, boys?" Mrs. Pig asked.

"Yes, Mom," said Lloyd and Boyd.

She opened the door and smiled right away. "Oh, you boys look so handsome. Despite the reason you're wearing the suits, I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom," they said.

Floyd, who was still in his pajamas, sat on the bed and crossed his arms. Mrs. Pig sat down next to him. "Are you going to do everything Mr. Mustela says today, Floyd?"

"Might as well," Floyd grumbled.

"Are you going to stay mad at me forever?"

Floyd was taken aback. "I'm not mad at you! I could never be mad at you, Mom!"

"Then are you going to be mad at Mr. Sneer forever?"

"I'm not mad at him either. Well, not about this," admitted Floyd.

"So what can we do to help you get through this?"

Floyd shrugged.

"Promise me you'll do your best in court today, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

Linus poked his head through the doorway. "Knock knock. Ready, kids?"

"Ready," said Lloyd and Boyd.

"Today's the big day. Are you ready?"

"Ready!" said Lloyd.

"Ready!" said Boyd.

"And you?" Linus asked Floyd.

Floyd grinned. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm ready. I'm _very_ ready..." and here he gave his pillow a good pat.

"Okay, that was creepy," said Linus. "But whatever. Come on, pigs. Let's get to the courthouse."

"See you soon, boys," said Mrs. Pig. "Do your best."

"We will, Mom," said all three pigs.

In a flash, Floyd was in his suit as well, and they all left for the day that would determine the future of the pigs.

* * *

><p>That evening a letter slid through the mail slot of the offices of the <em>Evergreen Standard.<em> Ralph looked up from the typewriter. "What's that?"

Melissa stopped turning the printing press and picked up the letter. "It's an invitation," she said. She opened it, and as she read it her jaw dropped.

"Who's throwing it?" Ralph joined her, reading over her shoulder.

"Cyril Sneer!"

It was an invitation to a party at Sneer Manor, starting in less than an hour to celebrate the pig's court sentence- they'd gotten off with a few hundred hours of community service and wouldn't have to spend a day in jail.

Melissa grabbed her camera. "I've got to see this," she said.

"Bert!" Ralph called. "Finish running off tomorrow's edition of the _Standard_ and meet us at Sneer Manor!"

"Gotchya, Ralphie-boy!" Bert was under his desk, working on a paper clip chain to get his quarter out from a crack in the floor. He jumped up, hitting his head on the desk, and then crawled out. "Ow."

* * *

><p>When Ralph and Melissa arrived together, the party was in full swing. Cyril's driveway was packed with cars and bicycles. There were balloons on the menacing statues out front, a huge banner over the doorway congratulating the pigs, and streamers all along the walkway.<p>

"I never thought I'd see the day," said Ralph in amazement.

"I'm surprised he managed to put all this together so quickly." Melissa held up her camera and snapped a picture.

Inside, Cyril Sneer was at a hastily set-up podium, making a speech to the crowd. "...And I would just like to say that I am very glad that my boys made it through the court date with only community service. And thought it will take them away from the mansion for some time, I am going to go on record as saying that I will continue paying them their normal wages while they're doing whatever community service they're assigned."

Linus Mustela nudged his way up to the podium and grabbed the microphone. "And if anyone needs a great defense attorney, I'm handing out my business cards here. That's Linus Mustela, as in You Wanna Get Off, You Otter Call Linus!"

"I thought you were a weasel," said Cyril.

"Same family of classification," said Linus. "Weasel, otter, ferret, mink..." He stroked his chin, then, into the microphone, said, "I _mink_ you otter call Linus if you wanna _weasel_ your way out."

"Too much," said Cyril. "One pun per sentence."

"Sorry."

"So enjoy the party," said Cyril. "I couldn't be happier. Grab some appetizers, hit the buffet, and dance to the music!"

"I never thought I'd see the day," said Ralph. "I mean, I knew he'd come a long way, but I didn't think he'd become this social."

"He's really glad he still has the pigs," added Melissa.

Cedric saw the two raccoons and joined them. "Isn't it great? The pigs are just going to have to work on cleaning up the environment, so the hours they already did were taken into consideration."

"Wow," said Ralph. He pulled out his notebook. "We have _got_ to do a story on this."

Just then Linus popped up behind them. "How much does it cost to take out an ad? I wanna get my name saturated in this forest while the case is still relevant."

"Uh... come on down to the offices tomorrow and we'll work something out for Thursday's edition."

"Sounds good," said Linus. "Here's my card. I'm gonna go mingle."

As they mingled, Floyd strode out onto the stage. He was dragging a tripod and a screen, which only took him a minute to set up. "Ahem," he said into the podium. "I have a very special film I want to show tonight. It's especially for _you_, Mom."

"I don't like the way he said that," said Boyd from the crowd.

Floyd put an old projector on the podium and unpacked his tripod into a full screen stand, then used a long hook to pull down the screen. He pushed a button on the projector, and a grainy home movie popped up.

It clearly showed Cyril and the pigs in the vault. The sound was a bit grainy, but the audience could still understand every word being said.

Cyril was sitting at a long table working, with the pigs on the other end. He was covered in ink with a roll of adding machine paper over his face. "What are you morons doing?" he snarled. "This place looks like a _pigsty_!"

"Oh, thanks, sir!" said Floyd happily. "We try, sir!"

"You idiots are costing me money on the stock market! And right now, _pork futures_ aren't looking very bright!"

The audience gasped.

As soon as that clip ended, another began. This was the room outside the vault, at a different time. Cyril was again shouting.

"Intruder? That's no intruder, ham-head! That's my son!"

"We were only following orders," said Lloyd lamely.

"Yes sir," added Floyd. "Your orders, sir."

Cyril squinted hard at the nearest pig. "You know," he said calmly, "You'd look good with an apple in your mouth. _That's my son you've trapped in there! _The one I built my empire for! The heir to that very vault! My Cedric," he moaned.

"But sir-"

Cyril turned to another pig. "Get an apple for his mouth."

And after that came another. And another. The audience was completely silent, the intensely uncomfortable silence of a crowd trapped in the most awkward situation imaginable. The residents of the forest were enraptured watching scene after scene of abuse. He shouted. He ranted. More cruel names followed: Ham hocks. Bacon bits. Porkers. Each word was as uncomfortable to the animals as a racial slur would be to us.

Eventually the film ran out and the screen went white. Floyd turned the lights back on. "This concludes the presentation," he said. "Are there any questions?"

Cyril was gaping at the blank screen. He slowly turned to Mrs. Pig. This time she didn't look surprised, or confused. She looked angry.

Not just angry. Furious.

She crossed the room, the crowd parting for her as she stormed over to him. "Mr. Sneer," she said in the iciest voice possible. "Is that how you treat my boys?"

"Uh- well, that is-"

"Do you shout at them more than you speak normally any time I'm not around?"

"Of course not! I- I talk to them."

"Oh, I heard you talk, all right. Bacon bits. Ham hocks. Luau feast. Is that how you see them?" Even as someone who had to look up to see his face, Mrs. Pig could really stare Cyril down. "Is that how you see _me_?"

"Not you!" Cyril said desperately. "Never you!"

"So I'm just one of the good ones, is that it?"

Cyril didn't know what to say.

"I think we're done here," said Mrs. Pig. "I would appreciate it if you didn't show me the door. I know my own way out." She turned around and left.

It was so quiet you could hear a flea sneeze. All eyes were on Cyril Sneer, who was watching the door where Mrs. Pig had exited.

Then Cyril Sneer broke down and cried. He dropped to his knees, face in his hands, and let the tears come home.

He knew he blew it. Just like with Ingrid.

_In everybody's life, just once  
><em>_Hopefully twice..._

But it wasn't twice. Not for him.


	6. Chapter 5

The Sneer Family Tomb was located in a remote part of Sneer Estates. Like the manor, it was made of stone and guarded with aardvark gargoyles. Inside there were vaults locked tight, designed to protect the remains of the most notable Sneer ancestors. Near the back, in a forgotten corridor, was Cyril Sneer, standing outside the only vault that meant anything to him.

"It's me, Cheryl," he said. "I miss you."

In his hands he clutched a bouquet of red roses. He lay the down on the ground under the vault. "Cedric's doing great," he continued. "Never been more proud of him. He's still got your ears, you know. And he makes money like you used to. Every day I see more and more of us in that boy."

He sighed. "I thought I might have found someone else. But now I know that I was never meant to be with anyone else. It's all right, though." He ran his fingers over the vault. "The time we had together was perfect. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Not even all the money in the world." He laughed a little. "Because if I had all the money in the world, who would I do business with?"

He stood there, touching the vault with his fingertips, and didn't say anything else. He just wanted to spend time with someone he knew had loved him, no matter what he did. And someone who wouldn't turn him away.

* * *

><p>"I hope you're happy with yourself," said Lloyd.<p>

The pigs were in their room. Floyd was sitting on his bed, hands folded in his lap, looking down. His pink face was bright red. Lloyd and Boyd were standing in front of him, really giving him the business.

"Mom's gone back home," added Boyd.

"She took the train to the city this morning. She's getting a flight out." Now that she was making money showing her Harvey Hurricane at car shows, she could both afford to travel by plane and was better off doing so as to keep the car in good condition.

"Now the boss is going to go right back to being mad at us like he was before."

"He might even fire us over this."

"And then where will we go?"

Floyd expected that when his mother left, he would be relieved. Instead, he felt... really bad. He couldn't quite explain it, or understand it, but he felt just plain bad. Well, maybe he _could_ understand it, but to admit that would mean admitting he was wrong. And nobody likes to admit that they're wrong.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?"

Floyd shook his head. He couldn't get the image of his mother storming out out of his head. For the first time, he was able to think of her and Cyril as a couple without a big black filter blocking it out with the words [Censored: Contains Mother-Kissing] stamped over it in white. Basically, he realized he had been selfish. He never thought about how breaking them up would hurt her before. Now he couldn't get it out of his head.

Someone knocked lightly. "Come in," said Lloyd.

Cedric opened the door. "Hi, pigs. Have you seen Pop?"

"No," said the pigs.

"I'm really worried about him," said Cedric. After how bad off he was before Mrs. Pig snapped him out of it, there was no telling how far he would fall with her storming out of his life. He gave Floyd a look.

"I'm really sorry," Floyd mumbled.

"Well, you still did it," Cedric replied simply. "Don't you have community service today?"

"We were just getting ready to go," said Boyd.

"Better hurry," said Cedric. "You'll get in trouble if you're late."

* * *

><p>Next Cedric found Cyril sitting on the balcony railing outside his bedroom, flipping through the Evergreen Standard. "Stupid rag," he muttered, puffing on his cigar. Cedric suspected that it included all the details of yesterday, from the pig's trial to the party to the episode at the end.<p>

"May I see?" asked Cedric.

Cyril folded the newspaper and tossed it to his son, then gripped the ledge with his now empty hands so they would have something to do, drumming his fingers impatiently. Cedric opened it and saw there were several pictures of the party in full swing, but none of Cyril breaking down and only mentioned that the party broke up after an "altercation between Mr. Sneer and one of the guests." Given how much attention had been given to the kiss, he was surprised so little was made of the break-up.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Cedric as he finished.

"Nothing to do," said Cyril. "She hates me. End of story."

"You're just going to let it go?"

"It's no surprise. It was just a matter of time, especially given that the same thing happened with Ingrid."

"You know, Ingrid would have given you another chance," said Cedric. "She did like you, Pop. She just needed a little time."

Cyril shook his head. "No," he said. "She's with someone else. I learned that at the launch party for the new product line."

"Oh."

Cyril slid onto ground. "Don't worry, son. I've given it a lot of thought. I was happy before we were together, so I can be happy without her."

"I don't know, Pop..."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you should go after her."

"She's already in the city. Her plane leaves in a few hours."

"The train ride won't take that long."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, son," said Cyril, "but I think this is a little beyond you."

"Pop, don't you remember when Sophia and I had our first big fight?"

"No."

"When you wanted to build the Cyril Dome on the lake? And they wanted me to play on their team to save it, even though I was afraid to stand up to you?"

"Oh. That."

"I was scared of what would happen if you found out it was me under that uniform, but in the end I did it anyway." He paused. "She was really mad at me when I said I wouldn't. I thought she was going to hate me forever. But I was afraid of what you would do, too. In the end, I realized it was something I had to do. I did it, and I've never looked back."

"I get where you're going with this, son, but it's different."

"Yeah. It's really different. But it's kind of the same, too."

Cyril hopped back up on the railing and took the newspaper back. "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree." He crossed his legs and opened the newspaper, signifying the conversation was over.

The door to the balcony opened and Lloyd waved nervously at his boss from the doorway. "Um, we're about to head down to the park to start our community service," he said.

Cyril grunted, but got back down and pushed past Lloyd into the bedroom. His keys were on the nightstand, and he picked them up and tossed them to the pig. "Here. Take the red car."

Lloyd looked at the keys, then up at his boss. "Um... are you going to fire us?"

"For what?"

"For... um, what happened at the party?"

"No," said Cyril.

Lloyd was surprised, and he left quickly before his boss could change his mind.

"You know what's interesting?" Cedric said when Lloyd left.

"No, what's interesting?" Cyril didn't sound interested, though.

"Floyd used his diary to find the clips he wanted. He left it in the control room, and he had tags sticking out of all the pages, and he left the tapes on the desk out of order."

"That's not interesting, that's annoying."

"No, I mean, the dates he used were clearly indicated. The most recent one was from over a year ago."

"What's your point?"

"I think you know my point, Pop."

Cyril sat down on the edge of the bed. Everything was quiet. Cedric silently excused himself as Cyril just sat and thought.

Finally, he got up, grabbed his spare keys and took off.

* * *

><p>The train pulled into the City Station at 5:05 that evening. There had been a lot of delays on the track, and Cyril didn't expect to get to the city anywhere near on time. Honestly, he figured he would be too late, get a room at a hotel, and just take a few days vacation to get his mind off everything. But as soon as the train pulled in and he checked the time, he realized that he wasn't too late.<p>

The decision hadn't been made for him by fate. It was time for him to make the decision himself. Cyril hailed a taxi, rather than wait for the shuttle, and rode straight to the airport.

The airport was bustling with activity, tickets being used, crowds passing security, lines of baggage waiting to be checked, families saying goodbye for a time, folks shopping and eating while waiting... Cyril was used to traveling to busy places, but was even more used to the stillness and tranquility that came with the Evergreen Forest, and especially given his current state of mind, he felt a little overwhelmed.

There was only one flight going to Mrs. Pig's hometown- or rather, the large city she lived way on the outskirts of. Flight 2319. It hadn't yet departed.

Cyril squared his shoulders and headed past security.

"Excuse me," a guard said, stopping him. "You can't go through here without a boarding pass."

"I'm not catching a flight," said Cyril. "I just need to speak to someone about to get on a plane."

"Sorry, but only people with flights to catch are allowed past here."

Cyril checked the sign over their heads to see which airline departed from this part of the airport. "Look here," he said, "I'm a major shareholder in this airline. _The_ major shareholder, actually. I practically _own_ this part of the airport, so you can just let me through."

The guard raised his eyebrow.

"I have five minutes," said Cyril. "If she gets on that plane, I'll have lost my chance forever."

The security guard nodded once. "Do you have any bags?"

Cyril held his arms out. "Nothing but my cigar and my kerchief."

"Put it out," said the guard. He picked up an ashtray, which Cyril obediently used to snuff out his cigar.

"I'm going to turn my back and check this scanner, and what happens happens," said the guard.

Cyril nodded.

Over the intercom, a cheery female voice said, "Attention! Flight 2319 is now boarding the A group. Everyone with a pass for Flight 2319, Group A is now boarding."

"That flight's on the other side of the terminal," said the guard. "Better hurry."

Cyril loosened his kerchief and took off running.

_Hey, boy, when your heart is breaking  
><em>_Hey, boy, when she's through taking  
><em>_Everything that she can take from you_

Up ahead was a moving walkway. Cyril ran right on it. Everyone riding stepped as close to the right as possible as Cyril tore past them at top speed. He left everyone walking on the regular ground in the dust.

_Hey, boy, when you're through with losing  
><em>_Hey, boy, when you're down and bruising  
><em>_Everything seems so cruel to you_

At the very end of the moving floor was a baggage cart half-full of luggage. Cyril tipped it sideways and dumped the luggage off. "Sorry!" he yelled as he jumped on the edge, pushing off with his left foot and sailing across the ground at top speed. There were a few angry shouts. "It's for love!" Cyril called back.

_You gotta hold on, hang on  
><em>'_Till I get through to you_

Dodge left! Turn right! He passed a surge exiting a plane and the crowd suddenly got too thick for rolling. Cyril then used the cart as a launching pad to jump up on the shoulders of the travelers, effectively going over the crowd at it's most dense point. "Excuse me! Coming through!"

_Keep the light on, love strong  
><em>_I'll find my way to you!_

Cyril ran out of crowd and landed on the ground. Then he vaulted over a low barrier separating the waiting area for the airline from the walking path. "Suey Ellen! Suey Ellen!" he shouted. He jumped over the empty seats for the previously-waiting crowd just like he used to jump vaults in his track days.

From the line waiting to board, Mrs. Pig turned around. She looked surprised to see Cyril running along the tops of the chairs. She did not look happy to see him.

_Hey, boy, I know youre hurting  
><em>_Hey, boy, take strength it's certain  
><em>_I can find the way to get to you..._

Cyril landed on the ground in front of Mrs. Pig. She was standing at what had previously been the back of the line, though it had moved up since then, giving them a bit of space.

"Mr. Sneer," said Mrs. Pig coldly. The use of her old form of addressing him did not go over Cyril's head. "I believe I made myself clear back at your manor."

"All right, all right," said Cyril. "Just let me have my say. If you're walking out of my life forever, at least give me a chance to spill my heart out."

Mrs. Pig sniffed. "You have three minutes."

Cyril was panting and wheezing. He hunched over, one arm over his stomach, and held up to fingers. "Just... just give me a moment... I have _got _to quit smoking..."

"Two minutes, forty seconds," said Mrs. Pig.

"All right, all right," he said. "I see where you're coming from. Suey Ellen, you've seen the worst of me. That's it. It doesn't get any worse."

"That's what I thought after the scrapbook."

"You thought it, but I didn't say it because I wouldn't lie. I'm not lying. I didn't say it then because I didn't want you to know how I could be. I didn't think you'd love who I might have been."

"You were right about that."

Cyril spread his arms. "But don't you see? You've already see the best of me, and now the worst. The worst, everything you saw, that's in the past. But the best? That's here, and now. The worst you saw from newspaper clippings and video footage. The best took you on a picnic and ate an ice cream sundae with you. That's the Cyril Sneer I want to be and the one you deserve."

Sadly, Mrs. Pig looked down. She didn't want to make eye contact just now. "But how can I be sure?" she asked, more than a hint of dejection in her tone.

Cyril looked away awkwardly. "You can't. Not without sticking around to see for yourself." He took her hands, forcing them to one again make eye contact. "Can you do that for me?"

"Oh, Cyril." Mrs. Pig gave his hands a gentle squeeze. Then she let go. "I just can't. I'm sorry."

Cyril's ears drooped.

She looked back up at him. "But I'll come back. In three months, I'm going to come and visit my sons again. And they'll write to me every week, and they'll tell me everything that goes on in their lives. And before the visit is over... I'll know." She kissed him on the nose, definitely a big step up from the beginning of the conversation. "Goodbye, Cyril. Be the best aardvark you can be." She turned around and rejoined the now short line of boarders, and in a moment was gone."I'll be here for you, Suey Ellen!" Cyril called after her.

Then he was discreetly escorted out of the terminal by security.

* * *

><p>When Cyril got home, everyone was walking on eggshells. He didn't say a word and his face was stern. Not angry, not sad. Stern. What did <em>stern<em> mean? Cedric and the pigs weren't sure if he was about to explode or have a breakdown.

Cyril was stalking down a hallway. The pigs were standing in a huddle halfway down. As Cyril approached them, there was a minor scuffle which ended with the other two pushing Floyd up to the boss. "He's got something to say to you," said Lloyd.

Cyril looked down at Floyd.

"Uh... Floyd stammered. "Um- that is- I..."

Cyrl blew a cloud of smoke down at him. "Apology accepted," Cyril said gruffly, then pushed the pig out of the way. Floyd coughed the cigar smoke out of his face.

The pigs looked at each other. None of them believed he was being honest. Floyd called after him, "So are you and Mom-" but the other pigs clapped their hands over his mouth.

"Ask her yourself," Cyril called back. "You do remember to write to her... right?"

"Oh, yes sir, yes sir!"

"Good. And don't you dare leave anything out!"

* * *

><p>At the Evergreen Standard, Ralph was elated. He was doing a write-up of Midas's trial and sentencing. Including serious prison time. Apparently, his multiple attorneys weren't nearly as good as Linus, or at least that's what Linus was hanging around the Standard saying. The fact that the pigs had been less involved than Midas was might have had something to do with it, though.<p>

In any case, when Ralph looked over this issue of the standard, it was something he could be proud of. "This is _real_ news," he said. "The stuff the forest needs to know."

"I agree," said Melissa, looking at it over her husband's shoulder. "Glad we steered free of gossip reporting on the drama at the party?"

"Very," said Ralph.

"You were right. This is the paper the Evergreen Forest needs."

"And I probably learned an important lesson about getting all the facts and not assuming, or something," said Bert. "It'll go great in my next column for _Bert Speaks!_" Bert put a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter. "I'm gonna finish this quick, Ralph, me and Cedric still need to finish that sled. I'm meeting him at the clubhouse."

Linus Mustela put his arm around Ralph. "Yeah, this issue really came together. I especially like the advertisement section. Where my ad is."

"Yeah, we'll be running it all week," said Ralph, easing out from Linus's touch. "You don't have to hang around here."

"Yeah, I know. It's just such a nice place," said Linus. "The smell of ink, the thump of the press as it prints each new issue... It's just really great. It really is."

"Really," said Ralph. "We're trying to get work done. You're in the way. You need to leave."

Linus looked at Ralph for a minute with an empty grin on his face. Then his head sunk. "I have nowhere to go," he said sadly.

"Well... get out and meet people. Try the Blue Spruce Café."

"Maybe I will," said Linus, stroking his chin in a most thoughtful manner. "Until then, I bid you racoons good day." He bowed his long body low, and then backed out of the office.

Ralph leaned close to his wife and whispered, "Make sure you double lock the doors on the office tonight, honey. I don't want him crashing under a desk."

* * *

><p>As soon as Mrs. Pig got home, she opened up all the windows in her house. It had been shut up for weeks, and even though she'd had neighbors over to water her plants and run a dustrag over the mantlepiece, nothing could wake up a home the same way that living in it could. Over the next few days she turned all the mattresses, washed all the quilts and re-made all the beds, re-stocked her pantry which had been emptied of expiring goods before her trip, and generally gave the house a good top-to-bottom clean. She loved the old house. Or rather, the new house which she built to look like the old house. It was practical, and cozy.<p>

The day that she finished the cleaning, when the house was fully broken in again, she received a letter from the Evergreen Forest. "My boys," she said affectionately as she brought it into the family room, sat down in her favorite floral easy chair, and opened it. There were two letters inside. One was the usual description of what the pigs had been up to. It talked a lot about their community service work, told a few funny stories from work, and assured that they were eating right and getting enough sleep. It was signed by all three of the pigs.

The other letter was different. It was in different handwriting (the pigs group-wrote the letters out loud, but Lloyd always did the actual writing because he had the best penmanship by far.) could tell it wasn't like the others as she started to read.

_Dear Mom,_

_I'm writing you this letter of my own free will, and not because the boss told me to. You can tell he doesn't know about this letter because I'm calling him A BIG STINKING BOOGER and I'm still alive to finish this._

Mrs. Pig chuckled to herself.

_I wanted to say I'm sorry. I never should have tried to make you and the boss break up, and I feel really bad about it. I still don't like you two together, but your my mom and I want you to be happy. Also I didn't show you any of the clips where the boss was nice to us, like when he thought we got locked in his vault and he got really upset because he thought it was his fault. Or when he hired us back after we shredded alot of his money by accident. He didn't have to but I think he likes us._

_And he says those things but he doesn't mean them the way other people do when they call us pigs bacon or ham. He's from a different generation though. I think Master Cedric is going to explain to him why it's not okay to say those things anymore. He didn't mean anything by it._

If Mrs. Pig had a nickel for every time she'd heard that excuse, she wouldn't need to go to any more classic car shows. Still, she'd heard those words enough to know when they were spoken out of actual malice directed at the species, or just plain ignorance of how cruel it really was. Ignorance was far more tolerable than malice, especially when the guilty party made an effort to understand why what he did was wrong rather than just saying, "You pigs are so sensitive! Why do you let it bother you?" They didn't know what it was like, growing up as a pig.

Cyril didn't seem to be using the insults as anything other than an equivalent to "moron" or "idiot." Which, while far from nice, wasn't nearly as bad as... certain other insults. Cyril had a short fuse, and her boys had a long match like you use to light a grill. All she wanted from him was a little patience and understanding when it came to her sons.

"Despite everything," Mrs. Pig mused, "he keeps my boys around." They tried hard. She knew they made mistakes; they always had. Cyril yelled at them because he had an anger problem, but he kept them around because... well, what do you think?

Cyril was trying. He was really, really trying. But she couldn't be with someone that was only nice when he was in front of her, because a man who's only nice in the company of someone he wants to like him is not a nice person.

_Anyway I have to go now. We're working a lot of hours now with the community service and our regular job. We're still saving up for that stereo. Maybe the boss will finally give us that raise he keeps promising for us. _

_XOXO_

_Floyd_

Mrs. Pig smiled looking over the two letters. "Just keep sending me letters like these, boys," she said softly. "Keep telling me that he's doing his best, and I'll go back to the Evergreen Forest to stay."


End file.
